


Once Again

by Kimra



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alcohol as Therapy, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Army, First Time, M/M, Merlin can be dumb sometimes, Reincarnation, Romance, Some death, but like season one canon not the later seasons, canon compliant death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-04
Updated: 2016-05-06
Packaged: 2017-11-23 14:46:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 37
Words: 106,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/623336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kimra/pseuds/Kimra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Destiny isn't always clear, but some things are a given, and Merlins pretty sure that sleeping with the Once and Future King was never on the cards.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Awakening

Merlin ‘Emrys’ Benton had a lot on his mind, so he could be excused for ignorance. At least he always liked to think so. Not the least of the things to clutter his overfull mind was ‘The Day’ that happened two months before his 14th birthday when his school had dragged the lot of them to Kew Gardens.

Merlin had been raised in a tiny flat in central London, his mother working three jobs to keep them there. He’d attended a school two blocks down the street and passed seventeen trees there and back again each day. High school had been a tube station away and he only passed seven trees each day. They’d all been nice trees, mellow, maybe lonely, but who wasn’t? He’d never given them more thought than he did the neighbour who smiled at him each morning or the ones who always shouted late at night. Not until Kew Gardens.

He went into the gardens with a friend by his side, a ready smile and the knowledge that back home he had a mother who would always love him. He left with all that and the added knowledge that he would never be alone again.

He’d always known how a plant felt – he just hadn’t realised he wasn’t supposed to. The cacophony of noise when he passed each bed in the gardens had been staggering, driving a migraine straight into his skull with overwhelming overstimulated noise. When he’d asked them, politely, to be quitter they’d become agitated and couldn’t stop. Confused as he was, and curious, they’d lent in towards him, wanting, straining, striving to see and reach him. To be with him.

Will had asked him if he was okay and that’s when Merlin had realised it was just him. No-one else was been swallowed under a melee of noise. No-one else could feel the pulse of the earth below their feet, through the thick plastic soles of their shoes, past cracked sidewalks and down down down to the core of the world. None of them actually knew when a tree was sad, or a flower was smitten, or the water was angry. They’d said things to make him think they did; “Yes the tree looks happy today, Merlin”, “No I don’t think grass can be suicidal, Merlin”, but they didn’t know. Had never known.

He’d run; away from Will, away from the teachers, away from the other students who never quite liked him anyway. He’d run until the noise was just a rush of air in his ears (he’d always liked wind) and he found a little tree, old but sturdy with drooping boughs. He’d crawled in under the soft patient thing and it protected him, blocked the rest of them out until he’d found his equilibrium, until the noise was no louder than a school of students on a field trip – eager – loud and excited, but just noise. Just chatter and apologies and his guarding tree’s crooning.

He’d fallen asleep under that tree, curled in against the dirt, grounded with bare arms dug into rotting leafs and old sticks. He’d gone to sleep exhausted from strain and woke an hour later, a fox curled into his lap and Will staring wide-eyed and awestruck at him. Will had told him never to do it again, whatever it was, and Merlin had said yes and no more.

Merlin never explained it to his friend, but he did learn from it, and once he began to learn everything had fallen into place.

Magic.

He had something in him that reached out to the natural world and it reached back. He was some sort of myth and fantasy and it was useless, but also nice. Because who else had friends wherever they went?

He had two months of peace after that, and then he dreamt of a boy named Arthur. No face, no body, just the knowledge of this boy and the rampant red dragon staring down from the top of a white castle. It had come with purpose. Purpose so strong it ached in his bones even when he had woken the next morning.

Then Will had snickered at him for scribbling ‘Arthur’ reverently in the margins of his school books. Snickered and said, he didn’t care if Merlin was a poof but, for the love of God, Merlin was to avoid anyone named Arthur, what had his mother been thinking? That was when Merlin realised the extent of how fucked he was. He also hit Will for the poof comment and went about his adolescence with his nose in books about Arthurian legend. Because Magic, and Destiny, and Reincarnation had all become part of his vernacular and he would be damned if he would face it blind.

He was Merlin, Emrys, magician and sorcerer of the Once and Future King, and he could be excused for not reading, not even seeing, a tabloid in the last eight years. That’s what he told himself when all was said and done. It helped… a little.

 

His first Arthur had been five weeks after the first dream, and only one week after Wills mocking but useful revelation, when he’d been fresh faced and ready to deal with destiny without even really knowing what that meant. First Arthur had been a boy in his school, a year above Merlin, with dark curls and a crooked smile. Merlin had followed him like a lost puppy (against Will’s snickers and eventual begging) until on the twelfth day First Arthur lead Merlin into an empty bathroom and had tried to shove his hand down the front of Merlins pants without permission.

Merlin, devout, loyal, expecting a king and destiny, had frozen and so had everything, and everyone, around him. Unwilling to second question his magic he’d wiggled away from First Arthurs clutches and never spoke to the boy again. First Arthur was scratched off the list. Future Kings did not do that, they’d at least ask first, Merlin was sure of it.

Will had suspected First Arthur of taking advantage of Merlins puppy dog eyes and optimism and had reiterated that ‘Arthur’ should be avoided. Any Arthur, apparently the name was jinxed; “Because Jesus Merlin, you’re too easy to manipulate as is.”

Merlin had agreed readily and secretly applied himself to trying to figure out what a Once and Future king had actually looked like – and would that even be relevant? And how one would behave. Shoving hands down Merlins pants was an instant strike, but Merlin hoped that wouldn’t be one he’d have to deal with again in any near future.

The Second Arthur he met on Oxford Street, by Primark. He’d been sitting on the side of the building looking every bit as above his surroundings as a King ought to be – and he looked like some sort of Grecian god – or at least a lead singer in a band for teenage girls (Merlin loved those bands).

Merlin had been going to ignore the man (clearly older than Merlin himself and Merlin wasn’t completely insane when it came to who he was going to ogle) after the first glance until the mans beautiful girlfriend had cried out “Arthur” and tumbled into the stranger with clinging bejewelled arms.

It rang familiar.

Merlin had frozen on the pavement, staring, bags of shopping at his side forgotten. When Second Arthur saw him gapping Merlin had gotten the full attention of blue eyes from a man with a girlfriend tangled around him. He’d tried to look away, but he kept seeing arms, decked in jewels, throwing themselves into an embrace and it made him stare gobsmacked.

The encounter had been confusing, and interesting, and Merlin never told Will about Second Arthur because the man had pushed his girlfriend – a hand on her arse into the store with platitudes and the mention of a smoke. The moment she’d been gone he’d turned sharp blues back onto Merlin and proceeded to ask Merlin what he was doing for the next fifteen minutes because… well he was free. Merlins brain had taken long blank moments of staring to put tone and words together and realise he was being propositioned.

Merlin had fled – then spent a good two weeks reading through doctorates about the relationship between the Merlin and Arthur of legend. He’d become very disturbed with the amount of violence, and rape, and incest, and everything else in the stories (how had he missed that the first time around?), but was very clear that Arthur had loved Guinevere and Merlin had been very much the old wizened man throughout Arthurs life. Merlin contented himself that he could now rule out any Arthur who looked at his arse. It wasn’t a great victory but Merlin would take what he could. Really Arthur was a disgustingly common name and it was going to be hell finding the right one. Merlin began to compile a proper list, not just the mental ones he’d been building before then.

Will dragged him away from Third Arthur when Merlin was sixteen. His mother helped with the dragging. Merlin reasoned, a month of sulking later, that if Third Arthur had really been the Once and Future King he probably would have noticed that he’d spent a charmed year where everything went right for him – so long as that annoying twig of a boy was nearby. He also would have invited Merlin along to Oxford when he enrolled instead of never mentioning it and having Merlin try to run away from home to follow. Because, damn-it, what was his school career verses the future king of Great Britain (or Albion? Or the world? Merlin wasn’t quite clear on that)?

Merlin didn’t actually mourn Third Arthur so much as relish his free time once his year of servitude had ended. He ruled ‘prats’ off his list of King Arthur spotting hints and found Fourth, Fifth and Sixth Arthur all in a week – the first picked his nose (disgusting), the second was too nice to be a king (nobody can be that nice and rule a country) and the third had been eight years old and even Merlin had felt skivvy following him around so had written him into a newly made ‘maybe’ column in his Once and Future note book. He’d check back on the boy in another ten years.

University had been a disaster – too many Arthurs. Besides what was he supposed to study? He vehemently refused to be the boy named Merlin who studied Arthurian legend (even though he’d read through more thesis’s and source materials on the subject than most post grads). Physics and the sciences pained him with it’s contradictions to his magic. And generally he made a mess of anything with numbers, they never did sort themselves out properly for him.

In the end he dropped out, but not before Arthur Thirty-two had taken him out drinking then sucked him off in a backstreet near his dorm. “Defiantly,” Merlin decided when he woke with his hangover the next day, “not a future king,” and left all the Arthurs behind him to find Will and confide in him – because he was NOT telling his mother about it all.

Will, good trusty Will, Will had a panic attack, followed by an episode of complete denial, then had sat down and commanded; “Show me,” and for an insane moment Merlin thought he meant the blow job (and how was he supposed to do that?) until he realised Will meant the magic. Merlin was miffed, the blow job had clearly been more life changing than magic he’d known about for years, but did his best friend duties and obeyed Wills demand. He’d save the whole ‘got off with a guy’ thing for afterwards.

He’d fumbled around the kitchen for something he could do and grown Will some old sprout seeds from the cupboard (after soaking them in water, he didn’t feel like straining himself) and despite Wills ribbing about how useless the demonstration was (“They grow that fast anyway Merlin!”) they both ate the damn things for dinner;

“Isn’t it strange? They’re like your babies!”

“Do you want me to starve? You do don’t you? You’re a horrible friend!”

He was twenty-one when he met his Fifty-second Arthur and he was becoming desperate. There was no way to define it. He’d never dreamed of the boy again, had no obvious hint that anything had to be done, but something in his stomach, in his muscles and innards, knew that in a visceral, undeniable, absolute: Arthur would need him and that he would be, like the Merlin of old, the shield that protected and the hand that guided. 

Fifty-second Arthur was a little taller than Merlin (that was good, kings were tall), had sandy blonde hair down to his shoulders (which meant nothing but it was well enough) and had worked hard and done amazing things in his life. He also had an affably drunk friend two steps behind him was answered to Gwaine and seemed as likely to share a drink with as shag you. He had other friends too, none of them counted.

Merlin tossed Fifty-second Arthur aside after two days, but kept the knight because a little part of his stomach untwisted whenever they spoke, and Merlin knew for the first time in seven years that when he met the right Arthur he would know. The magic would make it clear. He felt instantly liberated and secure, all he had to do was run into stupid Arthur and his Future Kingness and everything would become easy and make sense.

Gwaine had every intention of tumbling Merlin, Merlin realised this after two weeks in the mans company. Waking (still clothed) and wrapped up in Gwaines nimble arms had made that plain. And Merlin had every intention of taking him up on the offer so he took Gwaine out again glad that there wasn't an Arthur in sight (it really was embarrassing having all his sexual exploits, as they were, linked to one Arthur or another and even Gwaine seemed a deviance from the theme… if only a little).

So when he woke up after all his careful plans, wrapped in naked limbs and decidedly not a virgin anymore (in any sense of the word) and rolled over to find not-Gwaine, it was very much the start of Destiny and quite ironically destiny had started by fucking him up the arse.


	2. Meeting

Merlin woke, hung-over, and as such he spent longer than was reasonable realising that it wasn’t his hand trying to squash his nose off his face.

More importantly his own leg was twisted around the other persons hip and his left hand was lodged under warm bare flesh. Trapped. Well trapped unless he wanted to put in the effort of waking up Gwaine when the very idea of moving was making him feel queasy. It was with that logic that he battered the hand off his nose, and to safe guard it from further assault buried the thing into the mans shoulder.

Gwaine had a nice shoulder. Kind of.

“Urg, Gwaine, you reek.” Merlin muttered, not really a complaint because he didn’t care enough to move. But really Gwaine smelt of cigarettes, sweat and alcohol, none of which belonged on Merlins freshly laundered sheets. He supposed that it would be the first trade off to letting Gwaine fuck him but it balanced off into irrelevance when warm hands curled comfortably around his waist. Merlin hummed in appreciation as he came to understand that snuggling – a thing wholly unexpected – was now part of their arrangement. 

A question, blissfully low, rumbled against Merlins nose and he sighed, obnoxiously pleased despite the hangover.

“Hmm?” Merlin prodded lightly, not really caring but a little interested, as long as he didn’t have to think too hard.

The question was clearer the second time and “Who?” made Merlin frown into the curve of muscles below his nose while he tried to figure out what Gwaine was asking.

He gave up quickly, “What?” he grumbled right back, digging himself in against Gwaine despite that little spike of confusion that wanted to rush his body with unwanted adrenalin. It was ruining his attempt to fall back to sleep and ignore the pounding headache. He was going to hit Gwaine – when he was sick of snuggling – hung-over mornings should not include adrenalin.

“Who is Gwaine?” The rumble clarified in what Merlin could distinctly recognise as long suffering impatient. Except that didn’t matter, because he was naked, naked in a bed, and that was not Gwaines hands snuggled around him, and yes even he could tell he’d had sex last night. But that was not Gwaines voice, and dear god but he was in bed with a stranger.

Merlin yanked back out of the strangers hold. He even saw blonde hair and a furrowed brow before his hangover made itself very known and he was back down in the embrace (which had never really let up) with his head buried in a strangers shoulder. He fought valiantly not to think about throwing up because that was a sure-fire way to make himself throw up. Instead he breathed deeply, letting the smells that had annoyed him moments before ground him in the situation and the reality of it.

“Later.” Merlin threatened, willing himself back to sleep. “Later.”

And as if that was some kind of cue his bed partner let him go, rolled out of bed muttered “I need water,” and left Merlin completely alone and wondering where the hell Gwaine was because damn it, he’d been planning his first shag around the ass and… well that had clearly gone to hell.

He kind of expected to be left to his bed and the sound of his door closing behind the stranger. So Merlin was surprised when instead of being left to wallow in stinky sheets his one night stand plonked back down beside him, sculled the remainder of his pilfered water and rolled back into snuggles.

Well, not Gwaine, but Merlin liked the unexpected snuggles so he settled in to deal with it all later. Much later. Hopefully when he could think past warmth and comfort and strong arms. Though why he would want to do that was anyone’s business.

 

Breakfast, when Merlin finally stumbled out of bed, wasn't as painful as he’d expected. He was fairly sure one night stands were meant to be awkward in the morning and he certainly felt awkward, but with a few quick easy smiles the stranger was making Merlin feel something other than that entirely. The fact that the finely sculpted male specimen who had followed Merlin home last night hadn’t bothered more than a pair of low slung, unbuttoned, trousers (Merlin had dressed the moment he’d actually seen his competition) made it a visually stimulating meal. Merlin had no complaints as he munched down on a bowl of soggy cereal and managed covert glances. He hadn’t yet decided if he had the right to ogle outright.

Not-Gwaine ruined it, though, by talking; “So, you’re names Mervin?” Not-Gwaine was sipping at a mug of tea he’d managed to put together – Merlin had no idea how because he didn’t think he even had tea in the apartment – and had already finished off one piece of dry toast. Actually toast seemed more palatable than milky cereal with his hangover, but Merlin was committed to the path now, no matter what his stomach had to say about it.

“Merlin.” He corrected with a wave of his spoon. Self-consciously he thought of stupid Harry Potter and his wand and scowled at the utensil as he shoved it back into the bowl to hide under a puddle of milk.

“Your parents were hippies, weren’t they?” The smile was either mocking or teasing. Merlin felt like being amiable, he took it as teasing… for now. It was a close thing, he did not take comments about his parents well.

“It’s the only name that stuck, I’m told.” His mother hadn’t told him that quirk of his life until he was almost sixteen and had been in his first real crisis of insanity. His birth certificate actually read Andrew Benton for the first three years, but Hunith had changed it when it became evident that her child could not, or would not, respond to any name but the antiquated- Merlin. It had taken her seven months of calling him anything she could think of until one day a visitor had mentioned the birds and Merlin had bubbled and giggled and _responded_ to a word, the way a child should, for the first time in his entire life.

Hunith had though he was damaged, mentally handicapped, until that day and she’d taken to the name like a sponge to water, and he had replied and responded and been everything a seven month old child was supposed to be. So it stuck, and she’d legally changed his name.

Until she’d told him that story he’d always wondered why she’d burdened him with such a strange name. Later things had become clearer – but that was later.

“Suits you.” The man smirked affably and Merlin realised he was _trying_. Suddenly he felt like a tit. If he’d woke up in a strangers bed, in a strangers house, he would have panicked.

“I’m sorry.” He tried. “I was expecting someone else-“ Which he realised, even as he said it, did not help the matter.

“Yes, Gwaine.” Anger in a previously calm voice was very obvious. “Your boyfriend?”

“No!” Merlin felt worse again – he hadn’t considered how this would look. “No, we aren't – but we’d been going to – or – I mean-“ He stopped himself before the words tangled much further together. This was awkward. He took a breath and tried again, hoping his brain would give him something useful to work with. “Gwaine’ll sleep with anything-one- anyone on two legs. So I sort of just assumed…”

“Fine with that, were you?” That wasn’t anger, but Merlin couldn’t pick it, his heart rate was too fast and he was panicking with no good reason. It took him some moments to realise it was censure he was being addressed with, and he bristled in defence. Who the hell was this man to tell him how to live?

“He’s nice, he’s fit, and… who are you to judge?” He demanded. “At least I know him – Jesus I don’t know anything about you. You could be a crazed killer- some sort of street hobo who- you could be some spy- trying to kill me – or one of those-“ His hand movements were becoming more exaggerated with each idea and he wasn’t sure what he was building up to, but it was bound to be good.

“Arthur.” Stranger interrupted smoothly.

Everything stilled, and Merlins mind buckled under the sudden stop. He stared with just a little too much comprehension and a brain working too hard to put it all together and make it make a sense that didn’t horrify him. “What?”

“My name – you haven’t actually asked-“

Panic flooded him, panic and an overwhelming sense of dread. Panic was the winner; “Jesus Christ. Get out!” Fuck his life. Fuck it and fuck destiny and fuck the stupid name that had cursed his every breath since the day he was fourteen.

“What?” _Arthur_ demanded, tea halfway to his mouth and staring in shock across at Merlin.

“Get out of my house!” Merlin was moving, quick decisive motions, he was pushing the stunned man out of the kitchen (mug of tea still in hand) and towards the front door. Merlin was not going to deal with this. He was not going to acknowledge this, it was going to fade and become nothing and the only way to do that was to get this man out of his house _now_.

He’d gotten Arthur to the little hall by the front door when ‘Arthur’ (Fifty-three) dug his feet in and stopped, tea slopping over fingers, but not hot enough to burn (apparently breakfast ogling had been going longer than Merlin had realised). Even though he was taller than the stranger Merlin knew he couldn’t budge the stubborn mule. A cat against a horse, a clawless cat, well he had claws… but they were for very desperate situations and also rather useless when trying to be discrete. Or just generally useless unless someone was subject to being scared easily by strong gusts of winds and twigs in their hair.

“Why aren’t you leaving?” Merlin demanded stubbornly. Arthur folded his arms, stubborn as an ox. If ‘fucking Merlin’ hadn’t taken him straight off The List the stubborn assholery would have.

“I’m half dressed.” The man decreed, as if Merlin cared about anything so trivial.

“Out.” Merlin hissed desperately. “Out. I’m not having- Get out of my house, Arthur.” He spat the name.

Arthur sounded bemused, Merlin ignored the other emotion in the mans voice when Arthur spoke next. “You’re really going to kick me out because my names Arthur?”

“You have no idea! Now get out before…” Merlin stopped, head tilted to listen.

“Before?” Arthur prompted.

“Phone.” Merlin decided that it was probably the easier of his problems to deal with, and hunted it out (it was in his back pocket still, which was surprising). Stupidly, hung-over and distracted he answered without checking the number.

Will’s, “You okay?” gave him pause, he rallied as quickly as he could, hiding behind a mocking tone.

“Yes why?”

“Gwaine said you took off with some bloke last night.-”

“It’s fine.” He tried to stop what he knew was coming, but it was like watching a train wreck in slow, heart palpitating, motion.

“-You met the guys eyes and just gravitated to him-“ Sing songed.

Oh god. This was horrible. “It’s fine Will.” He had done his best not to think about the previous night, he was not going to start now.

“He couldn’t stop snickering. Waxing poetic.” Will teased.

“Not now, Will.” Merlin snapped. Which was the wrong thing to do, but try telling his brain that with Arthur Fifty Three staring him down like some evil monster. Besides, he had a lifetime to deal with the longer fallout of this whole thing – but for now he needed to deal with the man sized problem in his hallway and Will on the phone was not helping.

“You okay?” Will checked, a tint of caution overtaking his teasing.

Merlin heard the worry, real worry, and knew his friend needed reassurance, even if he didn’t want to give it. “Look, I just- He’s still here, and he-“

“You took him home?!” Which was well and truly loud enough for Arthur to hear as well. Merlin wondered exactly how telling Will’s disbelief was but pushed that concern aside. He needed to deal with this problem first.

“Later.” He snapped.

“Fine. But Gwaines on his way over to see if you’ve been ravished. Apparently he’s still up for it if you haven’t been.” And Will hung up, much less helpfully than Merlin would have liked.

“Jesus.” He needed to expand his curses if his day kept on like this.

“What now?” Arthur’s arms were just as crossed as before, and his expression was a lot less angry then Merlin thought it should be.

“Gwaines on his way over.” Merlin flipped the phone closed and stared at it.

“Your not-boyfriend?” The drawl raised Merlins eyes back to the man before him and he did a double take. There should not be a six pack standing in his hallway.

“Dear god, why aren’t you dressed?”

“There’s a lunatic between me and my clothes.” Again with the drawl.

“Fine fine. Clothes.” Merlin ushered (and Arthur allowed himself to be ushered) back into the bedroom. The tea mug pushed into Merlins hands while Arthur began a quest for lost clothes. Merlin was a little surprised that the clothes were so far afield, but then again, they had been in a hurry. Merlin repressed that image as quickly as he could, he was not dealing with last night until the morning after had been dealt with. Angry he shoved the tea onto his bedside table and stared haplessly at the room while the stranger went about finding his belongings.

“Find my phone.” Arthur instructed imperiously, and Merlin only did it because his other option was to stare at the man until he’d reclothed and he had to go back to pushing the man out of his house. “What’s so great about ‘Gwaine’?” Arthur asked as he shook out the bedding. “Sure he’s not your boyfriend?” There was a mulish tilt to that blonde head as it glanced across at Merlin.

Merlin checked under his bed for anything foreign, and was met with the usual clumps of dust. Will was never going to let him live this down. The thought made Merlin change gears, he bolted upright, hit his head on the bedframe and then pushed passed the pain to stare in wide eyed horror at Arthur. “You didn’t introduce yourself last night, right? I didn’t know your name, right?” Because it was imperative when he next saw Will that this be clear.

Arthur looked suspicious and angry and like he was putting something together. Merlin wasn’t sure how he knew what that looked like, but it was clear. “What’s wrong with my name?” He stretched the question slowly.

A beat of hesitation, “Nothing. Of course. Why would there be anything wrong with Arthur? It’s a perfectly serviceable name!”

Lips twitched, but the expression remained stern, “Serviceable?”

Merlin looked the man over and his mind stalled on ‘serviceable’ all over again. The thought was so uninvited he felt anger rear itself up again. “Can’t you dress faster?” The pile of clothes Arthur had accumulated were on the bed, even a pair of shoes lined up on the floor.

“I only dress at one speed, Merlin.”

Like that was a thing. “You could dress faster.”

Without warning the low slung jeans were unbuttoned, unzipped and shucked off. It was a impressively smooth action and then Arthur was naked again. Naked. Again.

“That’s not dressing!” Apparently Arthur had been walking around without underwear on, which Merlin would rather have not known because it did odd things to his insides and was making him want to revisit the whole breakfast scene in his head, which was hardly helping.

“I just found my underwear.” Which Arthur promptly held up and showed to Merlin, but did not, Merlin noted, put them on. Apparently naked was perfectly acceptable to be right now. When Merlin did not respond, the corner of Arthurs mouth twitched down a little, his expression smoothing out. “Do I at least get a shower?”

“You smell fine.” Merlin grumped.

“You told me I reek.”

Jesus Merlin couldn’t deal with this. Gwaine was going to be here any minute now, he didn’t live that far away. “Just get out of my house!” Immediately Merlin regrated everything, because the man who had been caught between a smile and a scowl through their entire encounter disappeared (not literally, which Merlin was so so so very thankful for, because that would have been a can of worms he wasn’t ready to deal with). Instead of teasing and flirting, (God, that had been flirting hadn’t it?) Merlin was looking into stone and he knew he crossed that line and fallen face first into insulting.

“You invited me here.“ Angry Arthur was low voiced and rumbly, it did nothing to Merlins insides because he was too busy piling more panic on top of his other panic. “ _You_ bought me home.”

“And now he’s telling you to leave.”

Merlin jumped, hand popping up to press against his chest as he stared at the newcomer. Arthur didn’t even flinch. “Gwaine.” Merlin wheezed out past his surprise. Arthur glanced then, barely a seconds effort and then turned his attention completely back to Merlin.

“Your not-boyfriend has keys to your house, Merlin.” Still angry, apparently, and even though he was naked his arms where folded across his chest. The briefs, it seemed had made it to the pile of clothes and being promptly forgotten about. Arthur Fifty Three had no problems with nudity.

“ _Gwaine_ isn’t supposed to have the keys.” Merlin turns his glare on the man lounging in his bedroom doorway. He had thought he’d at least have a door to protect him from the incoming harassment.

“Well he does.” Arthur snapped.

Merlin wanted to mock but couldn’t get his brain to function, instead he continued to frown at Gwaine. “Clearly.”

“Will gave them to me.” Gwaine held the keys out on his finger, not offering, just showing. Merlin repressed the urge to lunge and snatch them back. He didn’t actually care that Gwaine had his keys. Gwaine was old, Gwaine was destiny, and he would not harm Merlin – ever. The thought -the knowledge- it stirred Merlins insides and made him feel warm and comfortable and secure. His panic ebbed backwards and in Gwaines company he felt solid again.

“Will?”

Well there went his solid calm. “I did not cheat! I’m allowed to have friends!” Merlin cried, because he was sick of feeling like he was hurting this mans feelings. He didn’t even know this man! He didn’t want to know him. He was going to get him out of the house the second he could get clothes on him. He was…

Merlin; solid, calm, and aware, stopped thinking because thinking had just become the single most difficult thing he had ever done.

“Good to know.” Gwaine teased from the door frame, leaning on his side and looking as comfortable as anything, and Merlin looked to him hopelessly, the world falling out from below his feet. Gwaine tensed, straightened and flicked an accusing glance at Arthur before stepping closer to Merlin. “You okay?”

Merlin couldn’t respond, his brain stuck and looping. He wanted to comment, to draw those lines of worry off Gwaines face but the last of Merlins ignorance had dropped away and the knowledge that panic had kept at bay was solid and there and so very real and he could not fight it.

He wanted his panic back, desperately, which was just as well, because it tumbled back over the top of everything else and pushed down on it all, condensing it all into a single bright wall of ‘oh shit’ and Merlin barely had time to really ‘know’ amidst the torrent of emotional upheaval. Because Gwaine was old – as old as legend and he twisted into Merlins insides with history and familiarity and kin – and so too did Arthur.

Arthur Fifty Three, the Once and Future King.

Denying it to the ends of the earth would never change the next few moments, because for all Merlin didn’t like to think of himself as fragile or girly, he fainted.


	3. Drinking

Merlin was drunk. There was no second questioning that. He was drunk, and he only wished he was drunker. Hangovers be damned, that was irrelevant compared to what he needed to forget.

He’d woken up on his bed, apparently Gwaine and Arthur had argued over where to put him and in the end Arthur had dumped him on the bed in a sign of pure defiance that Gwaine had been ranting about when Merlin had finely woken up. So he’d decided to screw them both, stumbled out of bed, ordered Gwaine to lock the fucken house when he left and he’d abandoned all pretence of reality and left the two to fight about where he was supposed to sleep on their own.

He’d checked the time (thank god for phones in pockets because he had no idea where his watch was), realised he didn’t have his wallet (his phone kept ringing with Gwaine’s name flashing across the screen probably to tell him this, as if he hadn’t noticed), and also knew he had nowhere to go. He wanted to get drunk, but it was only 10am, it was a special circumstance and he really wanted to drink, but he didn’t think going back to his flat before those two had well and truly left was something he could do. So that left Will, because Will was Merlins only long term friend, Gwaine was too fresh and had looked too worried. Will would laugh at him, because Will could read his moods from years of practice.

Since he couldn’t get drunk he chose escape and went to the nearest park. Gwaine, fortunately, didn’t know the area well enough yet to know where the parks were, and he didn’t know Merlin well enough to look there. Only Will would know, so until Will’s number started flashing across the phones screen Merlin felt he was safe and secure in his privacy.

Relative privacy, since the entire park buzzed with life and language and thoughts. But the noise of the park was nothing, the noise of life wasn’t like the emotional upheaval of a one night stand turned future liege. And they didn’t care the same way people did, they cared about the bigger things, the things that actually affected them. Kindly they cared about Merlin as well, and Merlin soothed them all and forgot his agitation in the process.

He’d waited three hours in the park, pulling warmth up through the earth (just a little) and redirecting the biting wind around the park. Some wind ignored him and chased in amongst the trees, but overall it liked him and was happy to oblige. Sitting there, watching the sleet fall over other parts of the city Merlin was able to relax for the first time since waking. It didn’t stop him, when 1pm ticked over and Will’s number finely flashed across his phones screen, from going over to his friends place and getting plastered.

 

“It’s not-“ Merlin insisted with a broad sweep of his arm. “It's not like I’m not happy.” Merlin tried to clarify, because Will was frowning at him like he was crazy and… had Will actually drunk anything? He should be drinking, Merlin was sure of it. Merlin shoved his drink at his friend. “Drink!” He ordered with a firm nod of his head because that would solve one problem.

Will took the drink and, Merlin frowned, did not drink it. Instead he set it aside, on the carpet, out of Merlins reach. Merlin glared at the drink and felt his magic flicker into life, the feel of it made Merlin pause and let it go, because he wasn’t supposed to feel that. Magic was for secret times and desperation and… well shit Will was the only one in the room. Merlin forced the magic back up and glared at his drink some more. The cup wobbled on the spot then toppled over, spilling rum and cola across Will’s carpet.

“Merlin!” Will snapped jumping out of the way of the spillage.

“I didn’t do anything!” Merlin lied unconvincingly.

“No magic when your drunk!” Which was something they’d had long debates about, while both drunk, and decided was the best choice when it came down to it. Drunk Merlin meant drunk magic. His control was only as good as his alacrity, and drinking did not an alert Merlin make.

“I didn’t do anything.” Merlin tried again, and waved his hand at the mess. The entire patch of carpet vanished before Merlins very wide eyes. Will smacked him.

“No magic!” Will ordered, then took another strategy which Merlin was happy to deal with. “So, you’ve found your ‘Arthur’?”

“No!” Merlin was sitting bolt upright, bright eyed, red checked, and looked like an affronted rabbit. Will was not as amused as he would have been if he’d started drinking with Merlin, but it was far too early and he actually had afternoon classes to go to. “He’s not my Arthur!”

“Sounded like he was yours.” Will teased, because Merlin couldn’t keep a secret for his life.

“He’s shorter than me!” Merlin lamented, and waved his glass in the air. Will did a double take, checked his floor (missing carpet still missing), then forced down his fear. Merlins unconscious magic, he’d learnt, was actually much more sensible than Merlins drunk magic. As long as he wasn’t thinking about it the magic was fine.

“So?” He’d never quite got Merlins criteria for a King Arthur.

“So! He’s a prat!”

“He’s shorter than you… so he’s a prat?” If he could cut the man off, Will would be doing that right now, but even he didn’t trust Merlin’s magic enough to test it. After all last year it had given him a third degree burn on his foot when he’d tried to kick Merlin for being an idiot.

“He’s a prat. And he’s short. And…” Here Merlin tensed. “He slept with me.” 

Will was a terrible friend; he laughed. “Damn, your first shag.” There were actually tears in Wills eyes he was laughing so much. “Had to be an Arthur didn’t it? What have I told you?”

“Stay away from Arthurs.” Merlin muttered because he knew, of course he knew, he’d known for such a long time that it was crazy to consider that he could make such a huge mistake. And he still didn’t know if he’d known Arthurs name the night before (he could remember the event, but it was slightly hazy). He was a little afraid of knowing now (after all Arthur had known his name… more or less), but he was going to stick with his ‘truth’ for as long as he could… which wouldn’t be very long because Arthur would now be a part of his life. Forever.

That thought required another drink. Merlin saluted the bastardry that was destiny and dumped the contents down his throat. It burnt, Jesus Christ it burnt. He coughed, glared at the cup (hadn’t he vanished that?) and peered into it. It was full.

“Magic cup.” Merlin informed helpfully and thrust it at Will.

“What?”

“Bet you can’t finish it.” Merlin liked this better than dealing with his life right now.

“Merlin, I have class-“

“I’ll give you more time in your next exam!” Merlin bartered. Being drunk alone was kind of depressing.

“No you wont.” Will wished he would, five more minutes in his last exam would have been enough to get him the marks he needed to maintain his scholarship. Now he was working double-time to show he was worth any other scholarship that might float his way. It wasn’t looking good. Sometimes he really wished Merlin were unscrupulous.

“Please.”

Will also wished Merlin weren’t so innocent, because when he said please like that it made it much harder to say no. “No.” Not, fortunately, impossible.

“Will. I fucked the future king. I had dirty gay sex with a man who became one of the greatest legends of our time. I am never going to be able to look him in the eyes again!”

“What makes you think this was him?”

“I can feel it.” Merlin completely failed to make it sound as mystic as it was. Actually it sounded a little dirty.

“Oh?” Will was defiance. “Like with Gwaine? The most un-noble, un-knightly, un-scrupulous man you’ve ever-“

“You like him!” Because how else were they talking on the phone and exchanging his keys like best friends forever?

“He has offered to shag me six times since we met, offered to let me shag him four, and three of those times were in front of Sherry.”

“I’m sure he included her-“

“I’m straight Merlin, there is no part of the man that I find sexually appealing. Or appealing at all. Sherry, god help me, thought it would be ‘hot’ if I agreed.”

“Is that why-“

“No!” Will snapped. “We broke up because she was a cheating whore.” Which actually Merlin kind of knew since he’d walked in on her with some random bloke a week before the break up. “And stop trying to distract me! How can you be sure this Arthur is any different from any of the others?”

Merlin took a breath, wished he had his magic cup back, and steeled himself to be as serious as he could be (not very). “Because for the first time since I started looking I don’t feel empty.”

“So… the night after your first shag you feel good?” Merlin glared, and Will grinned unrepentant. Now Merlin didn’t want to be here either, because in the end, no matter how much he saw, Will never believed. Oh he believed Merlin had magic, he might even go as far as to believe that Merlin was The Merlin of old. But he didn’t believe in destiny, and he didn’t believe that Merlin needed to find Arthur. He never said it so bluntly, but there were always hints that made Merlin feel outcast and _wrong_.

“Give me back my magic cup.” Merlin demanded, an imperious hand held out.

Will took a sip of it, handed it over, and then his face contorted in horror. It was followed by a coughing fit. “What the hell is that?”

“Alcohol.” Merlin muttered back darkly as he took a swig. It burnt just as nicely this time as the last.

“From where?”

Merlin wasn’t telling. He didn’t know, but he wanted it to look like he was just being stubborn so he took another swig and glared at the wall. He hated knowing something so completely and having the one person he’d ever told about it not believe it. He wondered if Gwaine would believe him… then wondered if Arthur would.

God his life was messed up enough as it was, he didn’t need the trial of Arthur not believing him as well… but he suspected that was exactly what fate was going to hand him. That thought drove him to throw the drink back and finish the mug again. It burnt all the way down, and around him the edges began to blur and fade. Unconsciousness was a blissful gift.

 

“How.” Will demanded with a cracked voice. “Are you awake?”

Merlin squinted across the room at the mousey brown haired head that had popped up to stare at him. He couldn’t read the expression, and didn’t care enough to. His head was thumping syncopated rhythms loudly at his eardrums. There didn’t seem to be a purpose to it, except punishment, but Merlin let the sensation take him over.

“You were unconscious last time I looked.” Which sounded like whining and not concern so Merlin only scowled at the window in annoyance. He’d woken up from dreams of Arthur. The Arthur. And he hadn’t been sure if they’d been destiny dreams, or if his subconscious had stitched together everything it knew and wanted and come up with a meaningless jumble just for him. Either way it had been disturbing.

“When did you get drunk?” Will had not been drinking, Merlin remembered that much.

“You were unconscious and I got bored.”

“Nice.” Merlin mocked. “Way to go leaving me on the floor unconscious.” Merlin snipped because that was not friend treatment, he should have at least had a blanket thrown over him. Maybe even a pillow shoved under his head.

“I put you in the recovery position first.” Which explained that at least, but not the mug of booze he’d found by his head. He’d tried to pour it down the sink… because skanky last nights booze was not going to get a second chance (even if it was sterile) but when he’d looked back into the cup it had been full. He wasn’t even sure what was happening there, but knew he couldn’t blame Will for it, no matter how much he wanted to.

Merlin resumed his quest about Wills kitchen looking for that stupid bowl he liked the shape of the most. He tried not to let anyone know he picked favourites amongst their crockery, but it was possible Will had found out and hidden it. Will was a prat and Merlin hoped his friends hangover was long and painful.

“Tell me you’re hung-over.” Will sounded like the universe had betrayed him.

Merlin glared into the cupboard willing his bowl to be there, but it did not magically appear (useless magic) and he had to settle for one of the thinner bowls that always made him over careful with them. “No.” He stubbornly grumped, but Will knew him well enough to know it was a bluff.

Merlin found some cereal in the cupboard and filled the bowl, but the fridge betrayed him and there was no milk to speak of on the shelves.

“Is there milk?” Merlin wasn’t very hopeful. He only got a grunt in reply, but it was a ‘no’ grunt so he shut the fridge sadly. “I can’t believe you’re more hung-over than I am.”

“I hate you.”

“Don’t we all.” Merlin kept that quiet so Will wouldn’t jump to his defence… in fear that Will wouldn’t jump to his defence and Merlin would be left with gapping silence and knowledge he couldn’t handle.

“Merlin-“ Apparently not as quite as he had intended.

“Fine. Next time I want to get drunk I’ll go hang out with Gwaine. He’s the better drinker anyway.” Even if that meant he might end up in bed with the man. Frankly he would appreciate the distraction, so long as he wasn’t being made the butt of any jokes. Gwaine, would probably be over all his teasing soon though, which was good. Merlin would give it two nights, then he should be joke free.

He looked over at Will from his bowl of milkless cereal and noticed his friend was unconscious again. He considered storming out in some sort of pointless annoyance, but instead he found a blanket and pillow, sorted the hung-over bastard out and then he went back home. He had things to deal with, Arthur being the main one.


	4. Phone Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin calls Arthur

Merlin made it home clutching his new magical cup (friends who left drunk friends without blankets didn’t get to keep magical cups of alcohol) and with a massive headache that wanted to wrench out of his head and burn anything around him. That didn’t happen, of course, because his magic wasn’t actually as aggressive as he wanted it to be when hung-over. It was just as well it responded to sense rather than impulse most the time.

The entire trip was done on foot, and he felt miserable for it. He should have curled back up on Wills floor or stole the bed (the bed made more sense when he considered it). But he made the walk and he stumbled in through his tightly locked front door (thank you Gwaine) and slid the chain into place to make himself feel that little more secure in his pilfered apartment.

He was a little annoyed to realise, as he dumped his keys on the little table, that he wasn’t as hung over as he should be. Oh, he was hung over, just not enough. He’d noticed that recently but not put much thought into it. Why look a gift horse in the mouth? But the fact was he had been relying on being incredibly non-functioning and hung-over and he was actually only mildly hung-over. Alcohol poisoning would have been a welcome distraction, but that seemed to be becoming less of a problem as he aged. He decided he wouldn’t tell anyone else about that; people had killed for less.

On his little table he found two notes that had been left for him. Same paper, same pen, clearly different handwriting, and both folded over for privacy. Merlin hadn’t known Gwaine long enough to recognise his handwriting (he had no idea what Will’s handwriting looked like so maybe time wasn’t actually the issue) so he wasn’t sure which he should pick up first. He picked one at random and began to read.

‘Way to go Merlin. Tried to kick him out and lock the door. He insisted on writing you a note. He’s a real charmer.

Gwaine.’

Merlin folded the note back over and dropped it back onto the table. The second note seemed more perilous now he knew who it belonged too, but he picked it up and carried it into his kitchen. He stopped in the doorway, faced with clean benches and two dishes in the sink. It was faced with the cleanness that he remembered he’d left the whole place with breakfast half eaten. Jesus had he even eaten anything the day before? He resisted the urge to poke his belly and checked the fridge instead (the milk was there, cold and passing the sniff test).

“Right.” Merlin closed the bloody thing again. Food be damned, he was not going to let himself focus on the fact that someone cleaned up after him, because it sure as hell hadn’t been Gwaine.

He got himself a glass of water and sat at the table staring at the half folded letter. What kind of thing did one write to a one night stand? Merlin couldn’t imagine it, especially if the man didn’t have an inclining of their destiny (Gwaine hadn’t mentioned it either – damn it all).

He called Gwaine first and was answered on the third ring. “Lets go drinking.” Merlin opened.

“Now?”

Merlin checked his water and risked a glance at his stupidly clean kitchen. “Yes?”

“No.” Gwaine laughed down the line, “Tonight. We’ll get shit faced and forget what’s-his-name.”

Merlin looked back towards the table with Gwaines note. Surely that would have been mentioned… but Merlin has to check; “You didn’t sleep with him as well, did you?”

Gwaine made a gaging noise. “That prick? You have no taste in men Merlin, none at all.”

“Considering it could have been you…” Merlin bit back his disdain but not fast enough to stop the tone from being obvious to the man on the other end.

“See?” Gwaine kept it easy. “No taste.”

“Tonight?” Merlin pushed. “I’ll come to yours first.”

“See you around eight.” Gwaine hung up sounding amused, but Merlin knew a little better. He wasn’t sure what to do with the idea that Gwaine didn’t like Arthur. He was pretty sure that wasn’t supposed to happen. What kind of knight didn’t like his king? Merlin would have to fix that, once he’d sorted out that other, bigger, problem.

He fiddled with the letter for only a half second more before flipping it open. Maybe destiny had some way to go but he wasn’t enjoying the sick feeling in his stomach that seemed to have moved in and taken up residence.

The letter was brief; a phone number, a complaint about his ‘not-boyfriend’ and a reprimand for running off that morning. Merlin felt chastised for a few seconds then remembered that he should not. He was allowed to panic! What was with these people telling him what to do… even if one of them was his future lord and liege. 

Merlin dialled the number hopelessly. Even still hung-over he knew he had to get it over with. It’d been over twenty four hours since the note was left and Merlin needed to keep Arthur on his side… or win him over.

“Who is this?”

Which was not the same voice Merlin had expected so he stuttered when he replied; “Merlin.”

“Merlin who?”

“Is this Arthur?” Merlin tested, because maybe his memory wasn’t that perfect after all, even if he was fairly sure he hadn’t dialled the wrong number. The idea that Arthur would bother to leave the wrong number was stupid. He could have just left nothing, Gwaine certainly wouldn’t have forced him.

“Merlin who?” The man insisted.

“You wouldn’t know me.” Merlin replied dryly, because this was going just great so far. Maybe he should leave it until he didn’t have a hangover.

“Then why are you calling?”

It was like he’d been hauled into an interrogation room and Merlin bristled under the attack.

“I didn’t call you.” He spit out. “I called Arthur.”

“Where did you get this number?” Sharp military precision. Merlin felt like hanging up.

“Is this his number? Or are you just an asshole?” Merlin huffed. “No wait, I know the second part of that answer.”

“Now you listen here-“ Merlin hung up with an enormous sense of self satisfaction. He taped the phone a few times then carefully pushed each number from the note in, comparing them once before hitting dial again (it was exactly the same number).

“I didn’t call to talk to you.” Merlin snapped into the phone the moment it was answered.

“Really Merlin?” Which was Arthur’s voice and Merlin wasn’t sure what he missed but the man sounded a little out of breath.

“Oh.” Merlin stalled awkwardly. “I, umm… You’re friend is a dick.”

A ruffly noise and Arthur, muted, telling his friend, “He says you’re a dick. Also get the hell out of my room.”

“So you can phone sex your new boyfriend?”

“Out!” Arthur roared, and there was a sound Merlin recognised as something heavy hitting something solid, then that of a door slamming and all of it had the other mans laughter pearling in the background. “You were saying.” Arthur ground out, clearly still frustrated.

“Me?” Merlin wasn’t quite sure.

“Yes. You called. What did you want?”

Merlin considered hanging up again already a little strung out by the stress, but reminded himself about destiny and – Jesus but he was a, “Prat.”

“What?” Punctuated the stunned silence.

“You left your number.” Merlin redirected as quickly as he could, which was shamefully not that quickly at all.

“You called me a Prat.” Arthur fixated.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Merlin hedged. “Do you want to go to lunch?”

That earnt him dead silence and Merlin fretted that he’s asked the wrong thing. Maybe he should have asked for coffee, “Coffee.” He sputtered out once the idea had formed, then wondered if tea was the right term, but bit that down because he was not going to do that to himself today. Too much was riding on this.

“Are you asking me out?” Arthur asks tentatively, and Merlin was swift in his denial.

“No. Wait. Yes. But… coffee? Just coffee.” Merlin might have strained something in his brain because it was trudging through this at a slow, awkward, taunting pace. “To talk.”

“Are you breaking up with me?” Arthur huffed, and Merlin suspected strongly that it was amusement he was hearing in the mans voice.

“We’re not dating.” Merlin was clear. As clear as he could be.

There was another pause, the sound of something scratching, and then a sigh. “Then stop sounding like your trying not to break my heart.”

Merlin wanted to ask ‘Is that a real problem?’ but he swallowed it down with manly pride and reminded himself they had exchanged less than thirty minutes conversation in their entire association. One night stands did not break hearts unless people were teenagers with unrealistic expectations. Arthur hadn’t seemed like a teenager- “How old are you?” His demand was responded to with a long suffering sigh. The sigh implied Arthur was used to dealing with idiots and didn’t find any joy in it at all.

“I’m twenty-five.”

“You’re OLDER than me?!” The world tilted uncomfortably around, and Merlin was stuck standing in the middle of it.

“Yes, Merlin.” Arthur drawled out slowly. “It would seem so. Now, lunch?”

“Coffee.” Merlin corrected, because he wasn’t actually sure they should be in each others company for so long on a first (second) meeting. It wouldn’t do to find out they couldn’t tolerate each other too soon. They had time enough to work up to that.

“I have time for lunch, or dinner. Coffee doesn’t fit into my schedule.” Well dinner wasn't happening. No late night meetings with candlelight and alcohol and… consequences.

“Tomorrow?” Merlin was embarrassed to realise he squeaked.

“I’m busy tomorrow. Something I can’t get out of.” Through the phone he could hear the shuffling of papers.

Merlin was about to start a tirade on how you can’t just brush destiny aside for the next day, it had to happen now, but he didn’t, which was good. It was also good that he didn’t really notice the sting the instant rejection caused.

“What about the next day?” Merlin strived for not sounding like a hopefully puppy, and since Will wasn’t there he had no idea how well he did. He would assume well until evidence said otherwise.

“Let me check.” There was more shuffling. “I don’t have anything on until the afternoon. And I can move that. Done.” Arthurs tone changed, calmer, less harassed. “What about you? You’re free all the time?”

“I ahh… yeah I work most nights.” Merlin did not want to explain not being able to afford university that semester, despite his savings, and he did not think that was the sort of thing you delved into in such an early acquaintance.

“Stripper?” Arthur teased.

“With my body?” Merlin boggled at the very idea of it. He could almost picture moving around on a stage and smacking some poor unsuspecting victim in the face with his flailing limbs. There wasn’t a bone of grace in his body, and he knew it.

“Hmmm.”

Merlin ignored the low rumble resolutely. “I work in a twenty four hour Starbucks. It’s very exotic.” He felt calmer now that plans had been made, and maybe Arthur did as well, because his tone had eased and he seemed content to banter rather than fumble through awkward first contact.

“Probably doesn’t tip as well either.” Arthur agreed.

“What do you do?” That was an appropriate question, right?

Apparently not because silence was his reply for long dragging seconds. Merlin tapped at his glass of water impatiently. When Arthur spoke, he sounded hesitant. “I work for the army.”

“In administration?” He remembered Arthurs muscles, the way he’d moved, and he knew the question was stupid. But something about thinking of Arthur on a front line, gun in hand, and on his own was terrifying and he could not consider it. Did not want to.

“Nooo.”

“With guns?” Merlin wished he squeaked, because instead of any of his usually embarrassing tones he used one he hadn’t often used, and it was old and weary and he felt old and tired in his bones. And Arthur heard it.

“That’s usually how the army works, Merlin.” And apparently became defensive about it.

“Should I know this already?” Merlin checked, uncertain. “I don’t remember talking about your work last night-“ And that was what he got for not thinking, or thinking, both seemed just as disastrous. He’d brought up the night before. Just what needed doing when trying to create a clean break into friendship.

“No. We didn’t talk much at all.”

Merlin recalled it all a little too clearly (stupid eidetic memory) and flushed uncomfortably. Why couldn’t it have been a bad experience? Bad sex? Was there such a thing, he was a man and he’d been told men weren’t that picky, but anal sex had to have it’s drawbacks. First time anal sex was supposed to be awkward and uncomfortable (not that he’d been looking forward to that, but he’d trusted Gwaine). Random strangers shagging him into the carpet (bed? No it had been the carpet) were not meant to be that good, or that considerate.

“Right!” Merlin choked out. “I’ll see you, tomorrow. The day after! The day after tomorrow. There’s a café.”

“Lunch.” Arthur interrupted.

“A café that does food-“ Merlin persisted, “-near my place. Can you remember where that is?” He didn’t wait for a reply. “Slatal, it’s just on the corner of George and Chalk.”

“That sounds fine. I’ll meet you there at three.” And then the man hung up, no room for argument, no debate about lunch not being at three in the afternoon, and Merlin had been making the plans!

The dial tone did not care about his ire, but he told it all about it anyway. The tree outside his window seemed to find his language slightly offensive and Merlin did not care.


	5. Introductions

‘Lunch’ (and yes Merlin was using the quote marks because he had been hungry for hours and damn it but lunch was not a thing for the afternoon) wasn’t as bad as he expected it to be. But he entered it expecting the worst.

Arthur was exactly on time. Merlin knew because he had debated how long it would take to get to the café, and ended up giving himself ten minutes when he needed two. It made him look over eager, the fact that he dressed up (then forcefully ruffled all he’s clothes so he didn’t look dressed up) did not help the issue.

One man walked in with Arthur, and when Arthur spotted him and started to make his way over his friend was following. Merlin watched when Arthur turned back around to face the friend, lent in and… said something? He must have said something, because the friend looked annoyed and branched off to the counter to buy something. Merlin kept his eye on the man, he had kind of hoped the man would come over and join them, to keep it as unromantic as possible, but it wasn’t looking promising. Arthur arrived at his table and sat, effectively distracting Merlin from the other man.

“You’re here.” And with expressions to match the tone Merlin was able to tell that Arthur was surprised.

“I called, didn’t I?” Merlin tried to smile to take the bite out of his tone, but nerves were making him snappy.

Arthur managed a smile, just as strained. “True.” And picked up the menu.

Merlin limited his order to the two cheapest things on the menu, a salad and water (god he felt like a girl) and Arthur, after checking over his shoulder, ordered the full English breakfast and grinned. Merlin resolved to steal as much of it as he could without being obvious. Sharing food off someone’s plate was intimate; stealing it was fair game. It was how he rationalised the plan.

The conversation sputtered and drew out and Merlin was so thankful when the food came that he nearly ate it all in a swift attack, then realised that Arthur would take longer with his giant meal and if Merlin ate too fast it would be his responsibility to fill in the silence that continued to fall.

“So,” Merlin began (clearly not realising this was filling in the silence as well) “where’d you get your name?”

Arthur looked at him speculatively, bacon and toast on his fork. “My father.” He drawled out slowly (as if Merlin were an idiot), “You have a thing with names, Merlin.”

“They tell a lot about a person!” Merlin defended.

“Like, their name?”

“Okay, fine fine.” Merlin puffed. “Do you have a last name?”

Arthur waited to finish eating his mouthful before delivering the sarcasm: “Most people do.” Which was highly unhelpful.

“Benton.” Merlin supplied. “That's my last name.” 

“That’s a boring last name.” Arthur replied mildly. “You’d think with ‘Merlin’ you’d at least have something airy and mystic for a last name.”

“What? Like Stormcloud or Acacia?”

Arthur snorted, “You’ve thought about that before.”

“Yeah well, my mum’s not a hippie. And you avoided the answer.”

“Miller.” Arthur supplied, and Merlin got the distinct impression that Arthur wasn’t being entirely truthful. He let it slide, the man could lie to him (for now), but it was irrelevant information. He didn’t need it to stalk the man down if they ever fell out anyway, just as it was with Gwaine, now they’d met Merlin was sure he could find the man again.

“Arthur Miller.” Merlin considered for half a second, “That has got to be the most boring name I have ever heard.”

“It’s a good name.” Arthur defended, looking a little put out. Over his shoulder Merlin watched Arthurs friend find a seat near the door of the café and open up a newspaper, mug of coffee in his hand.

“You’re friend isn’t joining us?”

Arthur scowled at the man. “Leon thinks everything’s his business. When it’s not.” He snapped the last line out a bit louder than needed, and Merlin saw brown eyes check over at them then go back to the paper. Merlin wanted to think it was creepy, and he would have in any other circumstance, but even though it wasn’t as strong there was that little tingle of familiarity and he was sure that Arthurs creepy friend was just looking out for him. It was nice to know that one of the knights were already following Arthur around. Merlin wondered what it would take to get Gwaine to follow Arthur around and blanked. Too early for that sort of thinking, he supposed.

“So how do you know him?”

“Leon?” Arthur seemed doubtful of the topic, but Merlin was floundering. It was talk about Arthurs friend or start discussing the great powers of destiny and how the flow of the universe had brought them together. Which actually sounded more romantic than purposeful and Merlin would need to think of another way to word that. Merlin merely nodded. “Work.”

“He’s in the army as well?” Actually they both had that sort of built look fighters tended to have. Merlin hadn’t spent much time around army boys, but they had a look, and even he knew it.

“Let’s not talk about that.” Arthur cut into his breakfast with more ferocity. Merlin had already made a dent in the stupid salad and his water was empty.

“About your job?” Merlin waved over a waitress for more water. “You embarrassed by it?”

Arthur, who Merlin only now realised had started to relax, tensed. “I do what needs to be done Merlin, that’s my job, and I am not embarrassed or ashamed about it. I like what I do, and I do it well. Can you say the same?”

Merlin knows he will face off with fire and violence in the face of destiny so he doesn’t flinch. Arthur may kill, but Arthur has always killed and Merlin doesn’t see anything wrong with that. He’s glad it’s there. Glad it doesn’t have to be taught to Arthur, because sooner or later hard decisions will have to be made. It’s a blessing Arthur will be ready to make those decisions, Merlins only job will be to mitigate them, to make them the best decisions possible. He makes a mental note to read up on army training, structure and other army type things. He will not enter this battle unarmed. Knowing will always be his job.

“Then why not talk about it?” Merlin checked carefully.

“What do you do?” Arthur fired back.

“I work at Starbucks for minimum wage, which you knew. Where have you been deployed?” Merlin pried viciously.

“Anywhere I was needed.” Which was no information all over again, except that he had been deployed.

“Needed much?” Merlin didn’t care about his food at this stage (salad was one of the most boring things to be slapped together and called a meal in the history of man), he stared across the table at his companion, keeping his focus sharp and alert, as aware of Arthur as he was of his own breathing, his own heartbeat which had picked up speed the moment Arthur had refused information.

Arthurs smile was vicious, it twisted deep into Merlins chest and Merlin reminded himself that he was being turned back, that Arthur didn’t want him in this part of his life. Of course not, they’d only just met, but Merlin was determined. “All the time.”

“Good.” Merlin had another go at his salad. Arthur raised a curious brow, “You don’t seem like the sort to want to sit around.”

“And you do.” Arthur replied, and Merlin wanted to protest but couldn’t really do it. He had spent school with his head in the clouds and following around Arthurs. It wasn’t a good track record. Even now he loved to sit around and do nothing. Staring out windows was a highlight for most of his days and he made a point of spending at least ten minutes each morning doing just that, cup of tea, or not, he didn’t care.

“So, what else do you do?”

“You mean besides having drunken sex with complete strangers?” Arthur was leaning in, eyes dark, testing waters that Merlin wanted to leave still.

“Yeah. Besides that.” Merlin did not say it as smoothly as he wanted. In fact it might have been stuttered, and he was embarrassed to say he couldn’t look away from the fire in blue eyes. “Besides that.” Merlin repeated, trying to be sterner, but his voice was soft and careful and he did a horrible job of blocking out memories and thoughts. That night was the single worst decision Merlin had ever made, and it was haunting, and would probably haunt for a very long time still. There was no real way to apologise for it, and he wasn’t sure if he could make himself even if he felt he should.

Arthur flicked a glance back at his friend, and frowned. He pulled his phone out and began to type something. Merlin felt like a third person had sat on the table between them and didn’t like it at all. He felt magic creep up into his hands, ready to do something about the annoying piece of technology, but he bit it back. He’d give it a few more minutes before he did anything that drastic, he tried to be moderate.

“Lets go.” Arthur stood up, flipping the phone case closed and motioning impatiently to the door.

Merlin stared. “Go?” Because he had heard that wrong, or Arthur kept saying some of the oddest things Merlin had ever heard. “But you’re not finished.” There was still… some toast crust on Arthurs plate. Yeah, okay, that was probably finished. “Where are we going?”

Arthur studied him even as Merlin got up, fumbling for his wallet. A roll of blue eyes and Arthur had dropped three notes on the table and Merlin ignored that it was enough to cover both meals and pulled out his pithy money to add to the pile. Again there was an eye roll, but Merlin only saw it out the corner of his eye.

“Girl.” Arthur muttered derisively, and Merlin wondered how paying for his own food made him a girl, and was miffed by the accusation but he was being dragged out the door (hand on his elbow tugging and Merlin could do nothing but go with it) before he could retort.

They were outside, and around the corner, (Merlin was sure Leon had gotten up and followed them, and wondered how creepy that should be) before Merlin had the presence of mind to question; “Where are we going?”

“I don’t- your place.”

Merlin went to stop, but the tug on his arm was more insistent. “Why?” He demanded, glancing back to see if the creepy factor had lessened, but even though Arthur was setting a fast pace Leon seemed to follow along behind them easily. “Creepy.” Merlin muttered against the wind, and the treacherous stuff let Arthur hear him.

“Yes.” Arthur glared back at the man but didn’t say anything.

If Will had been following them Merlin would have turned around told Will to fuck off, and then gone on. He wondered what kind of friend Leon was if Arthur didn’t do just that himself.

Also, how the hell did Arthur remember where his flat was? Merlin was annoyed to realise they were through the door (which was supposed to be locked) and up the stairs to his floor before he’d really processed it all. Merlin only got to stop when Arthur did, staring at the flimsy fibro door and the little lock which wouldn’t stop a good kick.

“Well?” Arthur hurried.

“Well what?” Merlin was a little bemused.

“Are we going in?”

“Wait.” Merlin stilled the moment, letting himself catch up. Leon, apparently, hadn’t followed them into the building. That lessened the creepy a little. Arthurs phone beeped twice and Arthur, with a grimace flipped it open and typed something back. Decisively he put the phone back away and looked at Merlin expectantly.

“The door, Merlin?”

Merlin had caught his breath. He couldn’t ask what Arthur wanted inside his house, he couldn’t bring a single word of it to his tongue and that was just as well because Arthur’s eyes were a little dark and a bit curious and Merlin didn’t know when the man had started thinking about sex, but he needed to deflect this. Now.

“No.” Merlin chuckled spastically. “I don’t have the key.” He tried, which was ridiculous but he’d had that problem before, that’s why Will had a spare set of keys.

Arthur looks bemused, a little cautious. “They’re in your pocket. I can see them.” He reaches forwards, and Merlin is struck staring at that hand as it slips into his pocket. He is only aware of fingers moving far too close and intimate as they shift inside his pocket. He shudders a breath in and out, and hits his head back against the door with a dull thunk. He needs to do something, important, and all he can feel are thick warm fingers against his hip.

Arthur steps closer, all anger gone, all pretence of hurry replaced with heat and curiosity. Merlin lets the second hand rest on his hip, he lets it happen and curses himself a hundred times for it. There’d been no build up, not that he’d noticed, there’d been no warning. Just Arthur dragging them out of a café. It was still daylight outside. Sex didn’t happen in daylight, and Merlin didn’t care to re-evaluate that idea. Except Arthur had bypassed keys and moved into Merlins body. There was warmth and heat and Merlin could feel the pulse of the other man through the clothes between them. He could feel the thump of a heart that had taken a faster pace.

“Your keys?” Arthur tested, not pushing further and Merlin wished he would, but was glad he didn’t.

Merlin set his resolve. He could get sex, if he wanted it, he could get sex. And even though it’s on offer here, in the middle of the day, after an awkward lunch (late) with a man who had no problems in the looks department, Merlin would not take it. Because it wasn’t worth it. “No.” Merlin lifted his hands from his side, where they had been uselessly waiting, and took Arthurs wrist in his hold, drawing the hand out of his pocket. “You need to go. I have things to do.”

“Not people?”

“Jesus, Arthur.” And they haven’t stepped away from each other, and Arthur was still breathing the air Merlin was breathing out. Still mingling their scents and breaths and heat and Merlin had a door behind him, he’s not sure what Arthurs excuse is. “I can’t do this now.”

Arthur stepped back with the help of Merlins hand on his chest. No force used, but the guide of Merlins actions are clear.

“You sure?” Arthur cocks a smile, it’s teasing and Merlins heart seemed to find it either terrifying or wonderful, he ignores both options.

“Yeah. I’m sure.” Merlin tries to match the smile, but if feels too fake and falls away shortly after. Now it’s all awkward again, and Merlin wants to draw Arthur back against him to ease the guarded look off Arthurs face. He knew he was causing it to happen, and had no way to stop it without giving in to sex, when sex was irrelevant. Sex was nothing, he’d give it up forever if it meant he could put Arthur on the throne, he’d give anything for that because he was supposed to. He hadn’t questioned it before, and he wouldn’t start now.

“I should go then.” And he was all military again, self assured and absolute. Merlin wasn’t sure that was a good thing.

“I’ll call you.” Merlin breathed out despite it all. And Arthurs look was mocking, not bemused when he looked at Merlin and Merlin let it go, he didn’t have a choice. Arthur left. That was it. The end. Merlin waited until he heard the door at the bottom of the stairs close and then he got his own keys out and went inside.

That could have gone better.


	6. Lunches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More lunches are had.

When Merlin’s worked himself up to calling Arthur two days later (after three shifts at work and a lack of sleep) Merlin was honestly surprised the phone was answered.

“Who’s this?”

“Leon?” Merlin checked, because frankly he wasn’t dealing with asshole friends when he had enough troubles to deal with. “Put Arthur on.” Merlin ordered.

There was noise on the other line and arguing. Arthurs, “Stop answering my phone you shit.” Was quite clear and so were a few other insults which Merlin thought were very creative. Then a pause. “Hello?”

“Arthur.” Merlin greeted as calmly as he could.

Another pause, “Merlin?”

“Yeah. Hey.” Merlin was sitting up straight on the sofa, not comfortable and not at all able to be anything but uncomfortable. It felt like he’d let his guard down too much if he so much as sagged his shoulders.

“You… called.” Clear surprise, and Merlin wondered if he would be surprised if their positions were reversed. He wasn’t even sure, he had no idea what the other man might be thinking and it was probably a useless attempt to try and figure it out.

“Said I would.” Merlin countered. “But I was… ahh, working.” Which was true. Damn it, he shouldn’t feel embarrassed about this whole thing. Arthur had offered him more sex, and he’d turned him down. The responsible sensible thing. He wasn’t going to feel embarrassed about this, he was not a teenage girl. “Anyway.” Merlin forged on. “Want to get some coffee tomorrow?”

And Arthur said yes, distracted and not at all confidently and Merlin made plans for them and made sure it was really lunch, and nowhere near where he lived and as public as he could because he didn’t want any more misunderstandings.

 

Their second meeting went well, nothing too awkward and Merlin felt himself relaxing around the man, figuring out what his King was going to be like. It was actually hard to pin point the mans personality, but he was getting an idea and that was all he could hope for so early on.

 

It was their fifth meeting that was much more awkward. Merlin had thought they’d been doing well. They’d established schooling, army training, and a few pet hates. Good foundations for a friendship that would have to last a lifetime, and Merlin was pretty sure he could handle being Arthurs friend, even if the man was more standoffish than anyone Merlin had ever met before.

They were both sitting over their meal (Merlin a toasted sandwich which he couldn’t afford, and Arthur with a steak), Merlin drinking his tap water, and Arthur lent forward earnestly. “You’re never going to let me sleep with you again, are you?”

Merlin paused, replayed and then flushed bright red (thank god the drink was nowhere near his mouth, that would have made things worse). “What?” Merlin demanded. “What are you talking about?” As if they hadn’t tumbled into bed and fucked like rabbits. Merlin thought he was doing an admirable job of ignoring that bit of history.

“You can top you know.” Arthur offered, leaning back into his seat. He was watching Merlin closely and Merlin could do nothing but blush further. “I don’t mind.” Merlin’s brain shut down, failed to reboot and the system error that repeated itself behind his eyes was hideously close to ‘Kings don’t do that’. 

“Merlin.” The tone was pure command and Merlin snapped on his most fake pleasant smile and looked back to Arthur. He needed to wash his face, he needed to dunk his face down under a deluge of water and leave it there. Forever. What the hell was this man trying to do to him?

Merlin stayed perfectly still, fiddling with the tablecloth under the table. He was not allowed to move, never allowed to move if he was to pull this off. He couldn’t pull off unaffected, but he could at least put his best effort in.

“Arthur,” Merlin began, his voice steal because it had to be, “I want to be friends with you.” He said each word with careful precision. “No sex.” He would not be misunderstood. “Just friend.”

Arthur leaned back from him a little more, and Merlin felt panic set in. If he’d been waiting, if he’d taken them as dates when they’d been not-dates then this blunt rejection (how did that work?) was going to push him away. Merlin struggled to find something – anything that would keep Arthur with him. He had never felt more sure of his destiny than he had the past two weeks. He had never been so sure that he could move the world and rearrange it just to keep one man where he had to be and if he messed this up- how long would it take to win the man back into his company? Stalking had it’s limits.

“I could…” Merlin floundered. Besides putting a crown on the man’s head Merlin wasn’t sure what Arthur needed. Why couldn’t he have memories of a past life to go with these feelings? A whole lifetime of dealing with this man would help with his next words, but aside for helping to consolidate a kingdom, and help the man rule it (all future events and not helpful at all yet) Merlin wasn’t sure what he could do.

Something flickered in the corner of his eye and Merlin glanced, just to look away. Leon was sitting at a table, his newspaper opened and his eyes fixed across the room, glaring at Merlin. Merlin didn’t bother to acknowledge the man, he had zeroed in on the newspaper heading. Another article to the right royal engagement that had just been announced. Merlin latched onto that.

“I could help you find the woman of your dreams!” Which Merlin could. He absolutely could. Guinevere couldn’t be that hard to find. He’d found Arthur, he’d found Gwaine, and Leon and actually he thought he’d seen another one outside with Arthur before they’d come inside. (What were Arthurs friends doing coming on dates with him- not dates – what were they doing coming on his not-dates?). It stood to reason Guinevere would appear eventually.

Arthur met his declaration with a look of incredulity. “Really?”

“Really!” Merlin assured, excited by the opportunity to drag this out.

“You’re not even going to check if I ‘do’ women?” Arthur looked bemused, but not hurt or angry. Merlin clung to that.

“What?” Merlin laughed, derisive. “Of course you do!” Merlin waved magnanimously. “You probably…” Not thinking about that then. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Putting that aside.” Arthur rolled his eyes, “You don’t just find someone the perfect woman. Things don’t work like that.”

“Not a no!” Merlin quipped, and grinned, ear to ear in relief, because he felt that wonderful sense of purpose ready to take him over. Oh sure Guinevere hunting would take time, and effort, but it meant Arthur would stay around, would be part of his life. Merlin could work with that. “I bet I can do it too.” Merlin lent in in earnest. “I will find her for you. I mean, I found you- right?” Merlin couldn’t stop his grin if he tried.

Arthur’s frown was small, a tight pull between his brows as he stared right back at Merlins enthusiasm like a brick wall and Merlin didn’t care. “Sure.” Arthur offered, low and careful. “Okay, sure.” Something in that small frown hardened into resolve. “Lets start tonight.”

“Okay.” It didn't matter when they started. Except now that he thought about it- “Except-“ Jesus but he had a date, a real date, with Gwaine. At least he thought it was a real date, at least a friends drinking leading to sex date.

Arthurs look was stern and Merlin had the distinct impression he was being informed that he was the dumbest creature to face the earth, he had no way to argue it though.

“I’m, umm, going somewhere with Gwaine.” Did you say that to someone you might have just rejected and then offered to find eternal happiness for? Merlin wished these stupid things had answers.

“Perfect.” The drawl was still low, dangerous and is sparked something low in Merlins stomach that he couldn’t quite squish back into it’s place. “I’ll come with you.” And that seemed to be it, because Arthur’s expression could not close off more.

“You’re not- you can’t-“ Merlin deserved points for trying, but Arthurs hard look quelled all arguments. “Oh, fine.” Besides he and Gwaine could always have random uncommitted sex any time. Gwaine was as bound by destiny as Arthur and Merlin and he wasn’t going anywhere in a hurry. Merlin felt horrible just for thinking that, he did not take his friend for granted, he just knew sex was something that would always be on offer. That was just how Gwaine worked.

“Tonight.” Arthur promised, and something loosened in Merlins stomach, even as the man stood and left, Leon dropping his paper and following like a little duckling after its mother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little shorter than I intended, but the next scene is one of those mega scenes that seem to pop up out of nowhere.
> 
> Please review. I love reviews and I feed off them like some sort of review-zombie.


	7. At the Bar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Out drinking at the bar.

Which is how they ended up at the Mermaids Leg with Gwaine sitting between the two of them and alternating between plastering himself over Merlin, Arthur, and the table server (who looked almost as impressed, but slightly less murderous than Arthur was by this).

They all had a drink, Merlin had beer, because that was all Gwaine would let Merlin drink, and Arthur had followed suit.

“Where’s Leon?” He had asked when Arthur showed up alone, and Arthur had shrugged and taken his seat. Gwaine, who arrived after to find that their party had been crashed had taken it in stride, wedged himself between them and ordered the first three rounds of drinks. Merlin had taken to his drink like a fish, he really needed to work on moderation because by the time Arthur was gesturing to every girl who walked past their table with a; “What about her?” and Merlin was replying with; “No. Not her.” by that time Merlin was winding gusts of air around his fingers and using them to systematically blow out every stupid table at the clubs candle. He was pretty sure they were a fire hazard anyway. The fire, needless to say, was not pleased with this, but fire was one of those things you never felt guilty about putting out.

“Another drink!” Merlin demanded of Gwaine, and Gwaine only stared back haplessly from the pile he made against Arthurs side. “I’ll get it.” Merlin amended, and Gwaines grin was wonderful and bright and Merlin felt a little better about this whole thing as he went to fetch the only thing to placate a Gwaine who wasn’t having sex.

The moment he was gone Gwaine lent further into Arthur. “I’ll tumble you, if you’re having troubles picking.”

And Arthur promptly shoved him off and onto the floor. Gwaine felt it was overly harsh, once he was sure it had happened and glared up (half below the table) at Arthur. Arthur glared back. “Touch him again, while I’m siting right here, and I’ll break your fingers.”

Gwaine blinked slowly, then chuckled. He pulled himself back up onto his chair fluidly. Arthur was very curious about how drunk the man actually was, and how well he could hold his liquor, because he was on his third pint of the hour (so was Merlin) and seemed unfazed.

The man lent in close to Arthur again, this time with clear eyes and no lechery. “And if you’re not here?” Was asked in a low timber, heated and a little angry.

Arthur met those battle weary eyes unflinchingly, “Then I’m not here.” He didn’t want to say it, he and Merlin got on and he liked Merlin, but he wasn’t going to challenge Gwaine to bed the man while he wasn’t around to stop it. No, this play was safer, and although it had risks Arthur thought it was best.

Gwaine sat back, picked up one of Arthurs drinks (Arthur was still on his second) and downed half of it in one go.

“You, are going to give yourself liver failure.” Arthur informed in the same manner he told Morgana she was going to have lung cancer if she kept smoking. It was calm, matter of fact, and not a big thing; big things caused confrontations (he’d learnt that with Morgana too – his cousin was crazy).

“You have quite the playboy reputation, Arthur.” Gwaine waved his pint at the room, never spilling a drop.

Arthur laughed, “So it’s just him, ha? I had wondered.” Because he wasn’t a media darling (thank god) but they found him interesting occasionally. Arthur checked Leon and Percival across the room – god their lives must be boring. Arthur could hardly stand his life and he was living it, following it around like shadows had to be worse.

Gwaine agreed with his own little laugh, “He didn’t even recognise me, and I was in the papers the week we met. Hell, we walked past three shops with my face on their boards. I don’t think he notices that sort of thing.” The last was thoughtful.

Arthur re-evaluated Gwaine (as he was expected to do, he knew) and did not see anything remarkable about the man. He held himself like someone who’d had military training, a little at least. He drank like someone who’d done service (Arthur knew enough men like that), but didn’t seem to have that defeated loss of soul those men usually had. He knew Gwaine had served, but it clearly hadn’t been for long. The rest of the man was a mystery. A mystery that could wait, Arthur was more interested in learning about the man at the bar.

“Is Will his boyfriend? Or is he…” Arthur floundered for a polite way to say it (also one that didn’t turn his stomach), “…like you?”

Gwaine considered, “Fuck buddies?” Arthurs flinch made the man grin. “I tried him out, but he’s fixed on straight and narrow. Quite boring really, I don’t know what Merlin sees in him.”

“Would you have?” Arthur was genuinely curious.

“What? Fucked him? Yeah sure, he seemed nice enough, and Merlin was taking a while to twig. He doesn’t notice these things.” Gwaine grimaced.

Arthur found that hard to believe considering the evidence, “He didn’t seem to have any problems around me.” Which was a little bit showing off as well, and Arthur was only too happy to do it.

“No.” Gwaine smiled, “And then he threw you out.”

“And here I am.” Arthur smiled back and took a sip of his drink. He was not going to be bullied into thinking he didn’t have a chance. Something was going on between he and Merlin and he’d gotten just curious enough to want to know what it was.

Gwaine looked only more amused, “Yeah, with him trying to find you a wife. Seems to be going well for you.” Gwaine checked Merlins progress at the bar, Arthur followed his glance; Merlin was wedged between two rugby players and being ignored by the barman even with the money ready in his hold. “You know,” It was softer, sly, “I have a friend called Arthur. He introduced us.”

Arthur looked quickly at the man beside him, setting his glass down so he could give his full attention. “Oh?” He tried not to sound interested. “An ex?”

“Don’t think so. If it happened it was on the sly,” Gwaine frowned, “and quick. I haven’t actually seen the guy since then, but Merlin started showing up everywhere I went after we met.” Gwaine became fond, “He’s kind of adorable. He’s terrible at lying and he was following me. I thought it was a sure thing. Now I’m not sure why he was following me.” Arthur wondered if Gwaine was even aware he was smiling.

“Because he wanted to shag you, perhaps?” Arthur didn’t like the idea of it, but it was plausible.

“Nah.” Gwaine waved his beer like a baton. “If he’d wanted that I would have had him in the toilets that second night. I’m not saying he’s opposed to it. But he had to fall into the idea himself and it didn’t hit him till sometime after my eight try.” A self deprecating laugh, “And I’m hardly subtle.”

“Oh? He seemed eager enough-“

“Exactly!” Gwaine jumped in, “You’re in his pants within an hour of meeting, two tops. He had to work himself up to try with me. And it would have been great. But he’s never going to want me now.”

“He was with you last night. He mentioned it over lunch.”

“Yeah?” Gwaine grinned. “That’s how you spend your dates? Talking about me.”

Arthur’s expression went blank. “He is trying to find me a wife.”

“True.” Gwaine offered a comic wince. “But last night, I got my hand down his pants and he backed out and went home.” This wince was all for himself. “It’d been fine before you came along.”

“I’m not even a little sorry to have ruined your fun.” Arthur really was pleased, he liked Merlin, and until he sorted out exactly how much he liked him he’d rather not add complications to it. He accepted, as he’d said, that he didn’t have complete power over the situation, but it didn’t mean he liked it.

“No. You wouldn’t be. Playboy millionaire that you are.”

“Really?” Arthur rolled his eyes, “That’s the best you can do? Media bias?” Because he’d never heard _that_ before. The media was primed to do and say anything to make the life of anyone who passed their fancy horrible and he’d been their focus enough times to know that you never trusted anything you saw in it. Gwaine was lucky, because if Arthur hadn’t been trained in that joyful aspect of his life he might have reacted violently when meeting the man. As it was he tried to judge everyone on who they presented themselves as, not on what a tabloid paper said they were. Sometimes this was harder than others, and Arthur had a delicate balance of trust placed in certain parts of the media to try and level it out. Because sometimes people were honestly just terrible people. He’d been to war, he knew that much.

“I don’t recall you being gay.” Speaking of media attention.

Arthur bit back on replies, things that told too much and not enough, and stuck with the safest reply; “And I don’t recall it being your business.” He was glad for the restraint when Merlin re-emerged at their table, three pints of beer balanced in two large spindly hands. He really didn’t think the table needed more drinks, now that he thought of it. “Anything.” He grunts out, and takes another, small, sip of his beer. He never drinks much when he’s out like this, he isn’t afforded those kind of luxuries.

“You're a twat, Arthur. Your supposed to like Gwaine.” Which… okay Arthur supposed he wanted Merlin to like his friends too. He didn’t think it would happen because his friends took training to deal with, but it was a hope he had anyway. The knowledge that he wanted Merlin to integrate into his pool of friends sent a fizzle of concern through Arthur, then he dismissed the concern. He liked the idiot, why wouldn’t he want them to get along?

“I’ll add it my list.” The list he kept of things he’d failed to do when it was expected of him. It was a… comprehensive list. The reminder of it was annoying and he resolved to not like Gwaine (it wouldn’t be hard with the way the man spent half his time trying to manhandle Merlin) no matter what he learnt about him.

“Lists!” Merlin declared, voice full of vicious hatred. Like some sort of fainting damsel he threw himself down onto the seat beside Arthur. Arthur did no react to the changed seating, but he had to force the non-reaction because Merlin had been doing a good job of keeping space between them.

All appearances of non-contact went out the door though, as Merlin picked up his beer, slung his arm across the back of Arthurs chair and lent just a little bit closer. The man had only drunk… three drinks? Arthur wasn’t sure, but whatever number it was, it was a bit too few to be this touchy feely already. He said nothing and enjoyed the warmth of another body – a body he knew he liked – leaning near him.

“Don’t tell me about lists!” Merlin was right beside him, loud but not grating. Offended by lists? Arthur wasn’t sure what that was about but kept his quiet.

“Merlin, pick someone out for me since his highness here doesn’t like your offerings.” Gwaine was grinning suggestively, but his eyes where all for Merlin.

“He hadn’t suggested _anyone_ yet.” And he let his annoyance through, though it was for a different reason. Merlin, at least, was playing the role right. If he’d thrown Arthur at the first hot girl to walk in Arthur would have given the whole thing up for lost. But there was something holding the man back and so far no-one had passed muster.

Merlin snickered at Gwaine. “Try Leon. I’ll give you £50 if you can get in his pants.” His snickering took on a light snort as he considered it.

“You don’t have £50.” Gwaine rebuffed, not unkindly. “You don’t even know what a £50 note looks like.”

“Too right.” Apparently that was worth toasting, and Arthur watched a quarter of a pint go down in one gulp. It was disconcerting… and where did Merlin hide it? He was too skinny to be putting drinks away like that. Leon… Leon could out drink a horse if he wanted to, this man could not.

Gwaine was interested, “Leon?”

“Arthurs stalker.” And Merlin waved his hand towards a corner of the room, and there sat Leon, a drink of something clear (Arthur knew it was water) on his table, and a deadly expression for anyone who got too close. Arthur didn’t think Leon could try to blend in if his life depend on it.

“Okay.” Gwaine set his drink down – Arthur had lost track of whatever number he was at. “I’m bringing him over.” Gwaine stood with purpose, didn’t even waver and started to hedge the table.

“No!” Arthur did not want Leon there. He… he didn’t even want Gwaine there. He was willing to sacrifice his friend (Leon) if it meant Gwaine stayed over there, but he was not- He was being ignored. Completely ignored.

“Oh!” Merlin jumped up, excited. “Oh! And that guy!” And his long fingers stretched out over the table and pointed to Percival who was at a table talking to two young women and looking like he belonged. Arthur frowned as the man was pinned under the drunken sights of two men who had seemed oblivious to the room around them.

“Which one?” Okay only the sights of one of them. But Arthur would have guessed Gwaine to be more observant than Merlin.

“You’ll know when you get to him.” Merlin smirked, snickered and settled back into his chair, that arm still lobbed over the back of Arthurs chair.

Gwaine hesitated, “Am I meant to chat them both up?”

Merlin snickered, louder, a slight manic quality creeping into it. “Sure, why not? Shag them all.” He snorted. “I’ll even give you a medal. Sir Shags-a-lot.” Then dissolved into laughter and Arthur decided Merlin was well and truly past his limit.

Gwaine considered, brushing his hair back from his face and flashed Merlin a grin, which was reflected right back at him. “That. That is a medal worth effort.” And went straight for Leon.

Arthur chose not to watch. Some things he did not want to see. But he did turn his full attention to the man at his side who hadn’t recovered from his fit of giggles. Arthur almost thought it was amusing himself, except that Merlin kept snorting every time he tried to take a swig of beer, and there were some helpful guidelines for drinking that everyone knew. The primary of those being: if you can’t get the drink down your throat, it’s time to stop drinking.

Blandly Arthur reached for the pint, “Time to give that a rest.” He thought it would be easy, take the pint and set it aside as far from the man as possible, but Merlin dodged, his arm taking the pint out of Arthurs reach (which was shorter than Merlins much to his chagrin). Arthur glared at Merlin to convey how very serious he thought this was, and instead of Merlin replying to that glare he was met with a glare of his own. Hard blue eyes that looked far more sober than they had a moment ago stared back, unyielding and determined.

“I’m allowed to drink.” Which was slurred despite how sober the expression on Merlins face looked.

Arthur enunciated clearly, as he would to a child; “I’m telling you not to.” 

“Is that an order?” Something dark was lurking in those blues, but Arthur couldn’t fathom it.

“Does it have to be?”

And then he had a face full of Merlin (not in the good way), and what had been close before was irrelevant because Merlin was literally in his space, breathing in his air, and Arthur would have liked to think about sex, and sweat, and panting shifting bodies, but instead all he could see was hard blue eyes and a frown to match. “We could go down that path, Arthur.” Merlin began, voice deep and rumbly, and Arthur really wished he could think of sex right now, because there was something just a little frightening about the intensity he was being face with. “You could tell me how to do everything; how to breath, how to sleep, how to fuck. And I’ll do it, maybe (If I feel like it), in the end. But,” the voice was deeper again, resonating, Arthur wasn’t even sure how a human voice resonated, “you wont get anything out of it, and I wont like it.” Certain, and maybe it was right, because Arthur could feel nothing but regret to have challenged the man. He couldn’t even worry about what it meant, what it would mean, that had to wait until another time. “And that will be the biggest tragedy of our new lives.” Arthur blinked, spell broken in confusion, and when his eyes opened Merlin was back on his own seat, still close but not bleeding into the cells of Arthurs body. Arthur felt bereft.

With a grin, after a long pull of his beer, Merlin continued in a chirpy, chipper, way. “But I’m allowed to get drunk, and you are allowed to let it happen. And fuck you if you think I’ll listen to you when you’re just being obnoxious.” And he afforded Arthur a beaming smile.

Arthur didn’t know if he was scared of the man, amused, or absolutely smitten. None of them made sense to him and instead of picking one or the balance between them he stared back at Merlin, “You.. what are you?” because no-one was anything like this man. No-one could possibly me.

“Drunk.” Merlin supplied in that same chipper chant and his pint was finished. That was four pints (maybe five) and Arthur could barely breath, yet alone care. Whatever had been going on between them, it had just become something else, something he wasn’t ready to look too closely at.

Gwaine (bless his soul) interrupted them, and the moment shattered and fell apart. Arthur thought he must be glad to let it sprinkle away into nothing. “Lightweight.” The drunkard accused, reaching out with a steady hand and ruffling Merlins hair (Merlin tried to defend himself by batting at the hand feebly). Behind him, looking slightly guilty were Leon and Percival. Arthur amended that Leon did not look guilty, he looked disgruntled. Percival looked a bit like he’d been struck by lightning.

“Arthur.” Leon greeted with a brief nod. Gwaine was on the seat next to Merlin, sprawled and looking debauched and indulgent.

“Leon.” Arthur responded with a grimace. “Its been minutes since we’ve crossed paths.” He deadened all emotion, because annoyance was useless. “I didn’t miss you.” The tone had the right affect, and Leon made a quick grimace of his own and for a split second looked guilty. The expression was as fleeting as the emotion (Arthur imagined) and then Leon was back to doing what he wanted.

“Ah,” Percival stumbled, too easily unsettled, “Sorry sir.”

Merlin’s interest was suddenly piqued, “Sir?”

“I’m their captain.” Arthur gritted it out with displeasure. He had made things quite clear to them before leaving, he had tried to. He wasn’t sure how much clearer he could have made it, tattoos would have had to be involved, and he just didn’t think that was necessary. Apparently he was wrong.

“What about-“

“Leave it.” Leon cut Percival off and the hand Percival had begun to raise aborted it’s motion. Arthur decided Percival could run circuits tomorrow, and the day after, forever maybe. He was being terribly useless tonight. The action was completely ignored by Merlin, who had apparently fallen back into drunk (instead of intimidatingly sober) mode.

“You’re a captain?” Merlin was impressed and his voice was almost whisper hushed awed. “Wow. I mean, I’m not surprised – but that’s still… that’s good.” And then realised how incoherent he was, or thought of something (Arthur couldn’t be sure, but wished he could be) and flushed a brilliant red.

“What,” Gwaine drew attention back to himself waving Leon and Percival into the one spare seat (Leon took a chair from another table), “does an army captain do in the middle of London?”

“I’m sure _you’ve_ heard of leave.” He made himself sound casual, Jesus but it was too early to bring this sort of shit up. He’d leave it until at least the tenth date, and since they weren’t shagging, and Merlin was trying to find the perfect woman for him, Arthur didn’t feel like calling any of their ‘meetings’ dates. “When you accrue too many hours they force it on you.” All three of them pulled a face and it was lucky Gwaine already knew and Merlin was too drunk (or distracted) to notice, because they really gave themselves away. “Besides, there are reasons for army captains in London. We have that whole,” he waved vaguely (except not vaguely because he actually had a habit of knowing north from south even inside, and he also knew London too well when it came to landmarks) towards the royal quarter, “royal family, and barracks, to name two of them.” He also waved towards them but it was fine, nobody else probably knew their hands from their feet at this stage. Well Percival was horrible with directions and Leon didn’t bother knowing about things that far away. Besides he had no secrets from those two (even if his sudden interest in Merlin had thrown them for a loop – that was now just one more secret he didn’t get to keep, he’d never professed to being completely heterosexual and it was their fault for assuming). The shuffle of chairs around the small table pushed Merlin up against his side, which Arthur did not mind one bit.

“Paid leave?” Arthur nodded his head in assent and Merlin appeared thoughtful. “Wow, maybe I should join the army.” The thought of Merlin, all gangly limbs and distant eyes joining the army hit Arthur in the chest uncomfortably. He was sure Merlin could do it, eventually, he’d seen much less likely people survive basic training and go to war. But they all lost that gleam in their eyes, they all where hammered and moulded into a different person, someone who could handle war, and who wouldn’t second question their captain (at least not openly). The idea of what it would do to Merlin, of the significant difference, the… the idea of him becoming something less than he was, it hit Arthur in the chest and clenched hard.

“They’d walk all over you.” He promised, because that was true. “And then they’d kill you.” Enemy or friend, it didn’t matter, the Merlin he was getting to know would be gone.

“I could handle it.” The man defended with a twist of his wrist and a wave of his hand and Arthur was reminded of that first time Merlin had touched his skin, how it had burnt unnaturally and for the first time in months he’d felt awake.

“I’m sure you could.” But he wasn’t sure he could survive knowing that Merlin. Something about him demanded to be protected and safe guarded, even if Arthur thought the man could manage it all on his own (had been managing so far, he’d lived this long just fine). His words had a deflating effect on Merlin, and instead of looking ready to fight he settled down into confused silence.

Arthur twitched to say something more, but did not. He checked his men instead and was amused to see Gwaine lent up against Leon like some desperate floozy, and Percival sitting in abject terror and staring at all the _gay_ around him. At least Leon didn’t look fazed, even if he did have to keep distracting Gwaine with ale (beer, he meant beer).

He was happy with the whole thing, a little distracted when Merlins leg shifted and rubbed against his own, but overall happy. Usually his friends had to sit on other sides of the bar glaring at he and his company. He didn't like it, but if they were there officially he would make sure they stayed officially distant. This was different though, this was all Gwaines fault, and Merlins. How had the brat noticed Percival? Leon was obvious, he’d seen him before but they hadn’t meet at night before and Percival was a night shift. Unless Merlin had looked him up. Stupid internet. But then Merlin hadn’t behaved differently… Arthur took a long drink from his beer (bitter, not at all pleasant with a lingering aftertaste of yeast) and tried to turn his brain off. Merlin sorted that out for him by leaning in against him, chest pressed to Arthurs arm and shoulder.

“You know,” Merlin was slurring but sounded assured despite it, “you’re friends – you should keep them.” And then to make sure Arthur wasn’t letting his brain travel in loops of useless analysis he slipped his hand down onto his upper thigh, his inner upper thigh. Arthur stared straight ahead, Merlins chin resting on his shoulder and the smell of alcohol thick in the air.

“Merlin.” He warned. His body was responding (of course it was), but he wanted the hand gone, quickly. Against his wish (that was a habit that was getting annoying) Merlin squeezed his thigh, kneading the tight muscles and hummed questioningly into Arthurs neck. He kept his eyes forward, locked on a fixture on the opposite wall, it was boring and plain and a little bit brown, but it was somewhere to look.

“You are drunk.” Arthur stated, because this was not happening and that hand had to leave. It wasn’t fair to get his body this interested when it was going nowhere. Merlin apparently disagreed and the hand slipped up an inch higher. “And what you are doing is going to get us both in trouble.” He was speaking low, to keep the others out of the conversation, and so far it was doing the job because Percival was talking to a waitress bright red and hopeful (she was milking it in the hopes of tips but kept checking a clock behind the bar when Percival seemed distracted) and Leon was so fixed on ignoring Gwaine that he was doing exactly what Arthur was (had been) and staring at some out of the way spot. Gwaine wasn’t worth mentioning at this point.

Secretively Merlin replied, “You should drink more.” Arthur twisted with temptation, that hand was being very much where he wanted it and his logic smacking him across the head every time he felt a twitch of interest spike up his leg the very short distance to his dick.

“You should let go of my leg.” He used his captains voice, which did nothing what-so-ever against drunken Merlin.

Arthur caught the hand before it could go further, a white knuckled grip around a bony wrist and he tugged Merlin away from his goal. It was the first time he met Merlins eyes since he’d started the assault and Arthur felt logic flash out when faced with bright eyes and flushed cheeks. His heart took up a new rhythm, faster, demanding. His skin plunged into hyperawareness. Merlin’s pupils were blown, Arthur suspected his were too. This was not happening.

“Come on,” Arthur forced himself into reasonability, “lets get your drunk ass home.”

He could see Merlin expected things, nothing about him calmed or relaxed, instead the bundle of hormones looked more excited. His breathed, “Okay.” Was just another proof.

Arthur stood, pulling Merlin up next to him (completely unresisting, body pressed into the side of Arthur, not aroused enough for Arthur to feel it yet, but the second he was they were close enough that there would be proof).

“Percival, come with me.” Arthur ordered, he wouldn’t do anything, but for the same reason Uther had hired three of his unit to follow him, Arthur wouldn’t trying and leave them (which was to say Uther had hired them because he knew Arthur wouldn’t ever leave them to bare the blunt of Uthers anger). “Leon-“ he began.

“I’m coming too.” Leon stepped out of the circle of Gwaines attention with the ease of someone who’d already planned their escape, and Gwaine blinked at the empty space next to him twice before turning his glare at Arthur.

“You’re a spoilsport.” Arthur did not bother to reply, merely kept his attention on the Merlin still tacked onto his side. Apparently that was enough for Gwaines awareness to expand. “All right, Merlin?” The man checked, half lidded eyes looking up, and the expression was surprisingly guarded.

“Great, just great.” Merlin breathing into Arthur. Fortunately Arthur was getting used to the sensation, or at least figuring out how to ignore it. It was one of the benefits and drawbacks of discipline. Though it was nice to have Merlin all pressed up against him. He could recall very clearly (something he had been trying not to do) exactly how the same body had pressed up to him that one chance he’d had to touch Merlin. The thought was unhelpful and Arthur scowled.

Deflectively he sniped at Gwaine, “You’ll get another chance at Leon, I’m sure.” Which made Gwaine smile in a slow way and Leon to glower like the most indignant house wife. Arthur conceded that maybe Gwaine had a chance after all, but that would have to wait to be found out, because Merlins hands (bored with nothing else to do) had begun to wander again.

“Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who commented (and for all the kudos!). I hope you're all enjoying the story.


	8. After the Bar

Merlin wanted Arthur to come inside, they’d made it to the door (Leon and Percival had thankfully stayed downstairs when they’d gotten to the entrance hall) and Merlin was quite enjoying the way he could twist Arthur towards him with just a touch here or there, and had particularly enjoyed when Arthurs hands had gone questing in his pockets (for keys… which had been boring, but when they’d both stumbled into the flat, the door closing behind them, Merlin had been extremely hopeful).

“Bedroom.” Arthur insisted, pushing him back one step at a time. Merlin resisted just a little on one or two steps, just to experience the thrill of Arthur stepping into him by accident. But overall he wanted the bedroom… and Merlin was hardly going to argue with that.

He tried to steal kisses, touches, licks, anything that might filter past Arthurs swift evasions but was not as coordinated at he thought he ought to be.

“That’s it.” Arthur pushed him back a step and he hit the bed. He did not fall back onto it, instead grabbed the shorter mans shoulders to steady himself, fingers curling in to hold on tight. “Merlin, lie down.”

Merlin frowned. That was not sexy voice, it was reprimand voice, and he had only heard the sexy type once but he really really thought it was more appropriate. He was beginning to suspect things weren’t going the way he wanted them to.

“Merlin.” Arthur _ordered_ again, and Merlin curled his fingers in a little harder. It helped with the room swaying, but not overly much. Arthur gave a huff, grabbed Merlins wrists, lifted his hands off his shoulder and then shoved him (rather harshly) backwards. This time Merlin fell, back hitting the made bed and pushing out a gasp of air that sounded a little too pleased – he did not want Arthur pushing him around, thank you very much. He noticed Arthur wasn’t following him and tried to sit up.

“No.” Arthur ordered (again!) and pushed him back down. “Lets get you under the blankets.”

“Still dressed.” Merlin protested, because waking in your jeans was one of the most uncomfortably icky things, and also _sex_.

“You’ll live.” And because Merlin didn’t shuffle to obey Arthur stared at him and the bed then left the room.

Merlin made a loud protest, called Arthur back and tried to sit up and follow. Sitting up was harder than he remembered it being, so he went and lay back down. He managed to kick one shoe off before deciding shoes really weren’t that bad and kept the second one (beside he might have tied that lace tighter than the other… he wasn’t sure).

By the time Arthur returned Merlin was willing to admit he might be a little drunker than he though, and that maybe he wouldn’t mind some help getting that second pesky shoe off. To express this idea he shoved his foot towards Arthur. “Shoe.” He ordered, and Arthur looked at it doubtfully.

“Well spotted, Merlin.” He drawled, setting a glass of water on Merlins beside table.

“Help.” Merlin demanded, and shook the foot a little. It didn’t seem a particularly hazardous action, but Arthur caught the appendage like it had threatened him and tugged the shoe off (didn’t seem to give him any troubles, treacherous shoe).

“Now get under the blankets.” Arthur ordered, and Merlin would have to curb him of that habit… later.

“I’m drunk.” He admitted to the room, because actually Arthur was gone again. Merlin, upon realising this, felt a little sad and pathetic, so he rolled himself into his blankets. It was fortunate he couldn’t see himself, because the image was anything but dignified. Arthur, upon returning to the room, choked back a laugh, snorted once, then smothered the emotion back down into the depths.

“Also loud.” Arthur set a pair of aspirin next to the water on the bedside table and an energy bar. Merlin did not recall having either of those things in his meagre possessions. The apartment was only furnished because the old lady who had lived and died in the place hadn’t had any family who wanted the furniture. Merlin had surreptitiously thrown the bed away… because that would have been creepy.

“Try and shut me up.” Merlin’s challenge was met with a single disbelieving raised eyebrow and Merlin pouted because he was drunk and could get away with it.

“I’m going now. Do I need sit Leon here to make sure you don’t die in your sleep?”

“Yes.” Merlin snapped.

“That’s a no.” Arthur hesitated at the doorway, shook himself and left the apartment.

 

Leon was just outside the flat, arms folded and leaning against a wall. Percival had stayed in the foyer where Arthur had told them to. He reminded himself to be more careful with his orders when they where in this capacity. It would undermine him on the field if they got in the habit of considering his order as secondary, even if it was to Uther. Uther wouldn’t be in combat, but hesitation was hesitation.

“All tucked in?” Leon had a scowl, so nothing unusual.

Arthur considered the jelly role that was Merlins cocoon of blankets. “Yes.” And left it at that. Leon didn’t need to know that Arthur thought all those gangly limbs were adorable, or that argumentative stubborn personality was endearing. He had enough cop to deal with and until he knew where he really stood (nobody tried to shag a guy they’d already tossed to the side, just because they were drunk… well nobody Arthur wanted to be around, and he wanted to be around Merlin) he wasn’t going to start letting those things on.

He led the way down the stairs and was unsurprised to find Jonah on the footpath with a long silver car pulled up behind a little further down the street. “Well,” Arthur began, “at least one of you can avoid being noticed by a scrawny underpaid barista.” Because really, they were trained to be covert. It was part of their training! Arthur had done the drills, had hammered the information in. He’d tested them. And even if they walked a little stiffer than the normal man, and had broader shoulders, it didn’t mean they should stand out. Admittedly they were soldiers trained to avoid enemy detection in the field, not ninjas. But Arthur expected everything from his men.

“You’re not staying?” Jonah quirked a lopsided smile and Arthur started walking before the man could deliver whatever charming piece of drivel he was bound to come up with. The car was waiting for him and he was honestly too tired to care. Apparently self control of the magnitude needed around Merlin was draining. “He seemed up for it.” Even though Arthur was a few feet ahead of Jonah he heard it and stopped, back tensing. He tried to push the response down, Jonah was an idiot sometimes but he was harmless. “Would have done anything in that state.” Right. Screw it.

Arthur turned hard and fast and Jonah stopped in surprise. Leon was further back, looking unimpressed, arms having folded across his chest once more since leaving the apartment building. Arthur saw Jonah flick a glance back at both the other men, but even Percival wasn’t stupid enough to offer up support.

Arthur stepped closer to Jonah, invading his space and using as much height as he had to tower over the man. He was not short, it was just… Merlin was taller. “Tomorrow,” Arthur promised the man, “you get to give the entire unit a speech on the laws of consent.”

“What?!” Jonah gapped.

“Or,” Arthur ground out, “I will personally see to it you are cockblocked at every miserably opportunity you have at sex.” And he’d get the other men in on it as well, they’d think it was a laugh if nothing else. Arthur turned back to the waiting car and go in before Jonah could get past the stunned mullet look he seemed to be very good at.

Leon stepped up behind Jonah looking unimpressed, Percival moved up to the waiting car. “Not to mention,” Leon added to the shocked solider, “how he’s going to grill you during drills for the next week.”

“What?” Jonah repeated, then begged; “Hey, I was joking! Help me out here.” 

“No. You’ve been given an order, you do it. I also want to make sure you know it. Because If you drag our unit through your mud-“

“I know the law!” Jonah was becoming indignant, Leon didn’t give a rats arse.

“He’s waiting.” Percival had his hand on the car door handle, waiting for them to catch up. But there was a hard look in his eyes as well. Once he was sure he’d gotten their attention he got into the car himself, leaving them on the street. Jonah moved to follow.

“This isn’t done yet, Jonah.” Leon informed, forebodingly.

“No sir, of course not sir.” And Jonah got in the car, Leon a step behind him, and neither of them spoke of the confrontation again. Arthur taking out his phone and texting while the guards kept watch out the windows.

 

Merlin couldn’t move when he woke up. And it took some struggling and adrenaline before he realised that he was wrapped up in his own blanket. He stared at his little window in confusion as the sun glared back at him and he accepted that one of the reasons he might not be so clear headed was the pounding headache tapping its rhythm out behind his eyes. He could literally feel the pulse in his eyeballs, and that was not a comforting thing, nor did it settle his stomach.

By the time he got one hand free of the tangle he had created he had spied the longed for water and saintly aspirin. It gave him the strength to wiggle himself up out of his trap and with both arms, and his chest free he gulped down the water and drugs. Then he lent back against the headboard and stared out his little window, squinting against the sun (some nice nearby clouds floated over and blocked the majority of the searing rays for a few minutes and Merlin was almost coherent enough to thank them before they went off again – after all they had things to do).

It was while sitting there, considering how much he had drunk, and how he’d wrapped himself up so tight he could barely breath that his mind began to wander through the events of the previous night. His first thought was excitement about finding another of the Knights (that was three in as little as a month, a big improvement on none in twenty-one years). His second though, once he’d minced through the drinking and Gwaine’s antics was of complete and utter humiliation. He had groped the King. He had thrown himself at the man, and gotten nowhere.

He didn’t want to get anywhere, but he couldn’t help feeling a little bit horrified that he had tried and failed. Even if it was good. He just… it was hard to stay level headed when his sexual experiences were so fleeting and awkward. He, like any man his age, wanted to pretend that he was as much as prize as was available, but moments like this he had to face that unreality and throw it away. But it was good, he reminded himself, it was good and the single most humiliating thing he could have done in front of a man he planned to spend his life serving.

Before he could throw himself too far into self flagellation his phone rang and operating on basic motor skills Merlin answered it. He tried to say, “Hello.” But all he got out was a grunt, a squeaky grunt.

“You,” Arthur informed with the air of the high and mighty, “can’t hold your liquor.” Merlin wanted to die, and felt he was probably on his way there if this hangover kept kicking him in the brain.

Silence stretched until he realised he was supposed to answer. “I.. umm, yeah I don’t drink much, actually.” Which was impressively coherent and he patted himself on the back even as he glared at the water glass for being empty. It did not oblige him and refill, which was just a damn shame.

“So-“

“Could we-“ Merlin interrupted as quickly as possible, his own turn sending a spike of pain through his skull, “not…?” It could wait a few hours, surely. Maybe a few weeks. Maybe forever. It occurred to him that Arthur calling was a good thing, but he couldn’t pin point why.

“I didn’t do anything, you know.” There was actual concern in Arthurs voice and Merlin felt obligated to dispel any concern immediately.

“Yeah, I know. I don’t do the amnesia thing.” Times like this he wished he did. “Sometimes the hazy thing, but I always remember the important bits.” And Arthur taking him up on blatantly sexual offers would have been important enough to remember. Instead all he remembered was being thrown onto bed, given a glass of water and then being alone and comfortable and then he’d fallen asleep. “Thanks.” Because things would have probably have been more awkward if Arthur had taken him up on what was on offer, because of that Merlin was honestly thankful.

He reached out absently, twisting the moats of dust that floated in the sunbeam before him. He felt shy and just a little overwhelmed, and the dust wasn’t judgemental, nor the light. It both bent to his call, playing around his fingers and sending shafts of light about the room at strange angles that belayed nature and order and made Merlin feel comfortable and at ease.

“Merlin?” Arthur interrupted Merlins reprieve and the light bent back into place, the dust floating back into it’s leisurely quest about the room. “The next time? I wont.”

Merlins grip tightened around the small black phone. “Wont what?” His heart picked up, stumbled over itself, fear and excitement twisting and fighting against each other like a pair of snakes.

“Say no.” Rumbled, and Merlin froze under the duelling inside himself, wondered what it would have been like if Arthur hadn’t said no last night, if they’d stumbled back and fallen into bed together. If he’d been able to touch the man one more time and hide it behind alcohol and pretend there wasn’t curiosity there. Curiosity is all he’d admit to himself. But this… this promise drove into him a spike of panic, because it was real, not just a fleeting thought that could be dismissed for the grander picture. This was Arthur swearing something and it rang of all the history between them, of a thousand promises that had never been broken. Merlin drowned under it.

“Keep that in mind.” Arthur.

Merlins brain restarted, a new rule etching itself across his thoughts in hard black marker, permanent and bold. No more alcohol. Ever again. Ever. Forever. Because as Arthur would have his rules as king, Merlin has his as Arthurs advisor and that meant no more alcohol.

“Okay.” With shaking hands Merlin hung up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments make me post faster. I'm not even saying that for blackmail (maybe a little), it's just true. I get so excited to have reviews I write faster and post more frequently. Just saying. :P


	9. Avoidance

The next time they met Merlin was glad to see Percival (that had been his name, Merlin was sure) follow Arthur into the library and when the man went to sit somewhere away from them Merlin made a grand show of seeing him, and calling out. The librarian made a shushing noise, but couldn’t see him and was incredibly lazy (it seemed).

Arthur threw his hand up and Percival came over at a quick jog.

“Better?” Arthur demanded, peeved. And Merlin only grinned up at Percival, because drunk and meeting him he’d not been very clear headed.

“I’m Merlin.” He held out his hand and Percival responded to the gesture like a well bred child and shook it back quickly.

“Percival. We’ve met-“

“Yeah. I bet Gwaine he couldn’t get in your pants.” Which given the way Percival flushed scarlet probably hadn’t been a nice thing to say. Then again, it was good to be honest and Merlin didn’t want to be dishonest to any of the Knights. He fully expected them to play their parts this life time as well.

“You know, I think we’ve met before, as well.” Percival’s head was tilted just a little, examining Merlin carefully, and Merlin felt a flutter of hope give off between his ribs.

“Yes.” He breathed, careful, quite, because he did not want to break this moment.

Percival’s head titled a little more, his eyes loosing focus, and Merlin could not breath. “I’ve dreamed about you.”

The reverse was perfect, the awareness, Merlin wanted to tell this man everything, everything he feared no-one would ever believe. Everything that would make sense when destiny started to whirl around them once more, when the reason for their reincarnation became apparent.

Arthur made a noise, and the dream shattered, Percival flushed red and broke eye contact, suddenly interested in anything that wasn't Merlin.

“That is to say-“

“Dreamed of me.” Merlin insisted, desperate to have the moment back. Arthur made another noise, discontent, and Percival was up out of his chair.

“Nice to meet you.” The knight shot off in a hurried attempt at retreat.

“Again.” Merlin insisted, and thought maybe it wasn’t heard or understood as the other man moved as far away as he could without loosing sight of Arthur. Arthur had a twitch in the corner of his eye, but it passed the moment Merlin was looking at him fully.

“What are we doing in a library, Merlin? Besides chatting up my men, that is.” Arthur interrupted, and Merlin glanced down at his pile of books.

“You wanted to meet up-“ Arthur went to interrupt, Merlin cut him down, “and this is where I was.” Learning ancient dead writing systems so he could read through the scans of documents Professor Gaius had sent him from ancient manuscripts. Merlin wished magic was as useful as he’d seen it be in pop culture (the few bits he’d enjoyed until it had all just seemed like a taunt after he’d learned about everything). Apparently some people had ‘translating spells’. He was sure he’d rather appreciate not having to work for anything. Unfortunately that wasn’t how it worked, at least, not that he’d found. So he was studying long dead languages, in his free time, of which he had precious little.

“What else do you do?” Arthur seemed genuinely curious, and Merlin answered without any self-conscious awareness.

“I work and sometimes I hang out with Will.” He added, “Or Gwaine.” Considered, “or you.” And smiled guilesslyly.

“Do you… go to the movies? Play chess in parks with old men? Come on Merlin, you must do other things.”

“I like to read.” He defended, curling his fingers around the edge of his language book and pulling it a little closer in defence. He was used to people not understanding. They all had music they liked, and places they visited and shopping, and… things he wasn’t quite aware of. He could see, like many of those others, Arthur looked perturbed by his answer.

“Well, what are you reading?”

“Language’s.” Merlin replied.

“You’re learning a new language? Which one?”

Merlin wet his lips, “Umm… I’m also reading about military protocols.” Which wasn’t a very completely useful topic change since he’d picked that up after learning Arthur was in the army. He’d slogged through some of it, but it was actually boring. Ancient history was much more interesting to him. “And I play chess!”

“In the park, with old men?”

“No. On the internet, against an old man.” Which Merlin said before he really heard Arthurs tone, and then realised he’d just signed himself into some strange category of old man in a young body.

“Merlin.” Arthur looked horrified. “Really?”

“Gaius isn’t that old.” He was, he really was, but Merlin knew the chances of Arthur meeting the old man were slim enough to get away with the lie. “I also grow plants!”

“You are such an old man.” Arthur’s look of horror hadn’t subsided. “What about parties?”

“I went to one!” Merlin pipped, “once…” He decided another tactic was needed. “What do you do?”

“Currently? I force my men to do drills everyday.”

“Even though you’re on leave?” Merlin was a little impressed, and felt bad for the men. Arthur must be a horror to work for. He was glad he was only going to be an advisor, anything else would be too traumatic.

“They’re slack, they’ll loose their edge if we don’t keep practicing, and it gives them something to think about.” Arthur had clearly thought that through before tonight.

“But they don’t _have_ to, do they?”

“If they want to stay in my unit they do.” He’d never said as much to them, but he was pretty sure they knew it or they wouldn’t keep going to practice. Officially he had no sway over them while on leave, but that had never held once Arthur was in charge, even when he’d wanted it to.

“So,” Merlin began, “I read books, work and sometimes play chess. And you, do exercise.” He considered. “We are both essentially boring people.”

“I go out all the time Merlin. To nightclubs and dinner parties.” Arthur defended. “I also like to drive, and go hunting.”

“Dinner parties?” That sounded… just a little too upper class for Merlins tastes. He supposed when Arthur was king dinner parties would be a thing, but for now Merlin was blissfully ignoring the idea. Also he intended to be crotchety and senile (eccentric perhaps, senile implied age) so that he wouldn’t be allowed at them. It was a solid plan.

“Yes Merlin, my family insists.” The tone suggested it wasn’t the highlight of his life either.

“The Tiller family? Such a great noble family.” Merlin smiled pleasantly to hide the test, but was seen through immediately.

“I told you my family name is Miller.”

Merlin’s mouth twitched in annoyance. “So you did. But I don’t believe it.” Which, actually, now he thought about it, with ‘dinner parties’ on the menu it was possible Arthur was from an old family. Not that it mattered, street bum or estate owner he was going to be king of Albion, and Merlin would make it happen.

“Are you done?” Arthur tapped the books and papers in annoyance. Merlin sighed, he wasn’t getting anything done anyway.

“Sure, what did you have in mind?” Merlin closed the books.

“The Art Gallery sounds really boring, you’d like that wouldn’t you?” There was a tightness to Arthurs expression that made it all too clear he felt like he was pulling his own teeth out by asking.

“What about bowling?” Because Merlin had never tried that and there was an alley near his apartment, and probably both Arthur and Percival would enjoy it. He’d invite Gwaine and Will, see if either of them could make it.

“How very adventurous of you, Merlin.”

“Or the Art Gallery.” Merlin amended in the face of mockery. Arthurs face went from mocking to quick concern.

“Bowling it is.” And that settled the matter.

 

Merlin, of course, was terrible at bowling. He couldn’t quite get the ball off his fingers, whenever he tried to it tried to pull him after it. He did not fall flat on his face, and that was a miraculous positive he hadn’t even been hoping for. In the end Leon showed up as well, and Merlin enjoyed seeing the older man completely thrash Arthur at the game. Apparently Arthur wasn’t very good at it either, though he’d been holding his own against Merlin (hardly a glowing recommendation).

When Leon had suggested Arthur pretend he was trying to kill the pins, Arthurs game did raise a notch, but still nothing note worthy. Merlin made a mental note that bowling would have to be included in the future… until Arthur got good at it (he had a strong suspicion this wouldn’t take very long) and then they’d have to find something else humbling for the man.

What followed a nice pleasant evening out (though the alley itself felt like a bit of a dive) was a blanket of unexpected silence. Merlin made eight phone calls in three days; one on the first, two on the second and five on the last. Arthur, who had been highly accessible to Merlin before the silence, ignored each and every phone call.

Merlin rationalised this as a lost phone, busy schedule, and multiple other ideas for silence, but he could not help being worried. Will came over on the third day “To sit on your phone so you stop acting like a love sick girl.” And subjected Merlin to the most banal movie Merlin had had the displeasure to watch. He was fortunate that straight after the movie ended he had managed to wipe most of it from his brain. He suspected though, that when complete tedium struck it would creep back in like a wretched nightmare.

“Could you pick good movies?” Merlin grumped when it was over.

Will was sprawled across the ratty couch, legs over the back and looking incredibly bored himself. “When did you stop liking movies?”

“When they stopped being important.” Merlin snipped. He supposed he had liked some movies before, he’d certainly liked looking at the people in them, trying to see through their masks. Apparently he had gotten too good at it. Now when he saw a movie all he could see was ‘fake’ and ‘not real’ and a painfully obvious absence of soul. Reality TV had more appeal (he would never admit that out loud) and it was often filled with horrible people who didn’t deserve to be noticed by anyone.

“Shall we watch the news, Merlin?” Will was flicking the channels already, and Merlin pulled a face when Will settled on Sky News.

“No.” He insisted. “If we have to watch news on the TV, it’s going to be BBC.” He reached for the remote, and just like his phone is disappeared under a seat cushion. Merlin took it as a challenge and lunged at his friend.

He thought he was winning, he had Will in a headlock and that was usually a good sign of a win (that’s was usually when he knew he’d lost their fights) when his friend went completely still.

“Oh shit.”

Merlin stopped immediately, worried he’d hurt Will, but Will’s eyes were fixed absolutely on the TV screen. Merlin stared at the screen as well, reading the scroll of text that wound past (interest rate hikes again) and then focusing on the woman talking. Apparently someone had died.

“What’s that?” He asked against his better judgement and let Will go (apparently that was over, and they were still on Sky). He was hoping it wasn’t a friend of Will’s, but they were talking about the person like they were famous, so Merlin didn’t think that was the case.

“Merlin, that’s one of the royal cousins.”

“Oh?” He checked the scroll again, some first cousin of the royal family and Merlin had never heard of them. He always forgot the royal family had so many people in it.

“She got attacked at her school, stabbed in the stomach.” Will, at least, knew Merlin had no idea. “They’d said she was going to be fine.”

Merlin drudged up concern, for Will’s benefit. “Was she, young?”

The report had moved onto shots of the immediate family, the queen, and princes, visiting the hospital. It was easy to see the strain on them, and Merlin hated the cameras for invading so absolutly on these strangers.

“I think she was twelve.” Will sounded devastated. Merlin considered that as the news anchor reeled off information about achievements (a great many for a twelve year old) and plans for a funeral. He knew it was sad that a child had died but there was something dispassionate about news anchors that always made him feel cold rather than attentive. Apparently their emotive words worked the other way for the majority of the population. He wondered if it was that awareness of lying he had and news anchors didn’t quite trig as liars (sometimes they did) but people who manipulated truth instead.

“Who did it?” Because that was important, no matter who the victim was.

“They’ve got some guy, at least they said they did. But no-ones quite sure.”

Merlin scoffed and Will looked affronted. “A royal? At school? Tell me they don’t have cameras in every single corner of that place and I’ll pretend I believe you.” Will nodded slowly.

“Yeah, some people have been saying that. But, well, everyone thought she’d recover and everyone’s been focused on that.” Will had pulled himself to sit on the chair properly, and he looked absolutely devastated by the news as it continued to reel off more information that Merlin suspected was exactly the same information it would repeat in a few minutes.

A large photo of the girl was on the right hand side of the screen. She was pretty, with strawberry blonde hair and a overly large smile she would have grown into in time. Merlin felt a twinge of pain as he looked at the genuine pleasure that had been captured in her eyes then he stood and moved, restless and looking for a distraction.

“Thirsty?” He moved into the little kitchen and checked the fridge. Some of last weeks leftovers had gone off on the shelf, and there was a bottle of ginger ale that he was sure was flat, but seemed more appealing than tap water. He poured two glasses in case and went to check on Will. Will apparently was still fixated, so Merlin put the drink beside the TV and went to his room. He latched the door, opened his window wide and lent against the wall beside it turning his attention out to the winds and clouds of the sky.

A strong breeze redirected itself to wrap around him and he redirected it outside when it was done, giving it a path (winds got trapped sometimes and although they died as painlessly as they came into being Merlin enjoyed keeping them alive when they were so friendly). Merlin breathed it in and let it out, let it drag the feelings wound tight in his chest away, let the world fade into nothing but the soft caress of a breeze, the cornflour blue of a sky untouched, and the wall against his shoulder.

When his heart had calmed to the steady beat it was supposed to be, when the knowledge that life was unfair and stealing and vicious had faded back into the background where he could handle it, Merlin returned to Will and the repetitious news broadcast.

“Lets not watch dead royals anymore. It give’s me the creeps.”

“I wouldn’t worry about your Arthur, he’s hardly king yet.” Will replied too distracted by the screen to see Merlins face turn white. Also too distracted to see Merlin rally himself out of the painful comment and resolve on his course of action.

“That’s enough.” Merlin tugged the TV’s plug out of the extension board and the screen dipped to black.

“Merlin!” Will was indignant.

“Let’s go see a movie.” Merlin offered, and he found a smile for Will, and Will brightened marginally.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Anything you want, but I want to go now.” Merlin had his bag on over his shoulder already, watching Will hopefully.

“You check the times, I just want to see-“ He was already moving towards the plug and Merlin got between them.

“No.” He met Wills confusion head on. “They don’t have anything new, and they wont for hours. It can wait.” And he waited because Will was sentimental and would cry over strangers and watch the horrible things in the world, and every time it would break his heart a little more. Merlin would delay that for a little longer today.

Will understood, of course, because they’d been friends for over eighteen years. Instead of trying to fight Merlin over it he found his bag and led the way to the nearest cinema (Merlin hadn’t even known there was one nearby).

By the end of the night Will was glued to the television again, and he Merlin left him in his flat to absorb every detail on a story that hadn’t even been released to the public yet. The royals would put out a press release the next day, announce all the important details to the public and they’d find whoever did it, because that’s how things went. Merlin thought he should read up on funeral protocols on the royal family, but decided he wasn’t going to bury Arthur in any near future so it could just bloody wait until a later date. Sometimes the things he read up on were morbid, but even that crossed a line.

Merlin thumbed a text to Arthur (the first of the fourth day since it was one in the morning) and sent it before drifting off to sleep. If he hadn’t gotten a reply by the time he woke up the next morning he was going to find Arthur and slap him for being so inconsiderately rude.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For reasons I can not express I'm unable to name royals when writing this story. I did attempt to write specific names (though I have no idea if there is a 12 year old first cousin - nor does it matter) but just couldn't. The assumption is that the Queen, Charles, William and Harry are all there because this is set now, in this time, with the current government as it is. It's not essential to know that, but thought some people might like it cleared up.  
> Also: Please comment. :)


	10. Moving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MAJOR IMPORTANT NOTE: o.o I completely and utterly skipped posting these scenes for no reason I can fathom. I think I just got confused and that did it. Please forgive me for skipping them, and I hope I haven't confused anyone too much.

In the end he only got a one worded reply of, “Fine.” which made Merlin worry, but he couldn’t chase it up because he had a shift at work that afternoon and he was pretty sure it was Arthur who’d replied so ‘dead in a ditch’ could be struck off his list of concerns. He hadn’t really entertained that option, much.

So he was halfway through his shift when Arthur walked into the coffee house, looking slightly more put together than usual. Merlin had time to notice this, but not put anymore thought into it because Trilly was jostling him to hurry up making the cinnamon mocha he was halfway through. Merlin preformed the task mindlessly, sneaking glances up at Arthur (who was alone) sitting at a corner table looking sullen. He started a pot of tea for the man, as far as he was concerned Arthur could sit anywhere he wanted, but knew his boss would probably kick the man out if he didn’t have a purchase. Tea was the cheapest thing on the menu.

When he’d handed off the other drinks to Trilly he picked up the pot of tea, ducked under the counter (apparently this was also unacceptable because Trilly started making a racket) and approached Arthur.

“Hey.” He set the tea down, and Arthur mocked it with a look Merlin was becoming accustomed to, so Merlin just pushed onwards.

“How did you find me?” Merlin made a show of wiping down the table, sprinkling Arthur with crumbs as he went. Arthur held both his hands up to avoid the spray and although he frowned, Merlin could see relief in his expression. Merlin scrubbed the table down a bit harder, at least Trilly couldn’t complain if he was working.

“Merlin,” Arthur chided, “there are three Starbucks in the area, only one is open all night. It wasn’t rocket science.” He set his elbow on the table and rested his chin on the splayed palm. The image he made was in opposition to the fine pressed black trousers, white shirt and slate grey vest. Merlin eyed the vest distrustfully.

“You’re wearing a vest.” He accused, or at least it sounded like an accusation once the words were out. He hasted to explain; “People don’t ware vests.” Which didn’t help his tone at all. Perhaps if he’d added ‘anymore’ it wouldn’t have sounded as insulted, but probably not. His voice was betraying him tonight. Arthur pulled back to run his hand down the front of the vest self-consciously. “And Leon’s not here…” Merlin didn’t even know his work existed anymore, something was off, and there was only Arthur in his awareness now.

Arthur smirked, “They were annoying me, I left them behind.”

Merlin could not crush his irrational worry but he hid it carefully under a cheerful smile.

“And came here?”

“You kept texting.” Arthur tried to smile and the attempt fell away into nothing. Merlin pulled up the seat opposite Arthur and, for something to do, poured the tea. He could not move his eyes away from his friend.

“I was worried.” As if that wasn’t obvious.

“I had some official business with the unit.” And Merlin couldn’t unsee the strain in his Arthur. “And had to talk to father, twice.”

“You okay now?” He asked even though it was apparent the answer was ‘no’.

Arthur covered his mouth with a hand, considering as he looked across the table at Merlin. He was weighing his options and Merlin saw the clarity of certainty set in as Arthur made his decision.

“My unit, and I, are under investigation for war crimes.”

Merlin forced out a laugh, sure it was a joke, and then realised that Arthur was watching him and there was nothing but complete seriousness in that expression. “What?” Merlin found himself gasping. “You are joking right?”

“No Merlin.” Arthur found a spot to Merlins right to stare at, Merlin checked it to be sure Arthur was only avoiding eye contact and then he had to face what he’d just heard.

“You’re fighting this, of course.” Merlin lent forwards.

“Merlin!” Trilly shouted from the counter.

“I’m on break!” He roared back without remorse. He didn’t even care if the place was on fire, he was not turning away from this. “You are fighting it, right?” He felt the worry set in, wondering how he could get Arthur a lawyer that would fix this, make it go away. Make it something else.

“Of course we are.” Arthur scoffed, leaning back into his seat (the first sign of relaxation and Merlin was too distracted now to notice it). “But these things take a surprisingly long time,” he waved his hand magnanimously, “investigations and all that.”

“What do they think you did?” Merlin saw he shouldn’t have asked, because Arthur’s expression darkened. “No. It doesn’t matter, you didn’t do it, and you wouldn’t let your men get away with it if they did.” He was ready to let it go, completely irrelevant, but Arthur looked up at him and Merlin couldn’t begin to guess the expression he was being faced with. “What?”

“You… just like that? Just like that and I’m not guilty? You can’t be sure.”

Merlin wasn’t sure if he was supposed to apologise for faith or pretend he didn’t have it. Neither was going to happen. “You want me to doubt you?” He really didn’t think Arthur wanted that either, which was good, at least that would put them on the same wavelength.

Arthur floundered, staring at Merlin, and Merlin drank the tea he’d made for Arthur waiting for the man to gather himself. Trilly was too busy dealing with customers to have a go at him and although he needed the job he thought he could pull it off, this once.

“Wouldn’t all that be in the news?” Merlin considered, he hadn’t noticed any major events in the military recently. A while ago there’d been a glut on them, and Merlin had mostly skipped over them. But if he’d seen Arthur… he was sure he would have remembered him.

“You watch the news?” Surprised. “Don’t strain yourself though, so far it’s been kept under wraps. I’m sure it’ll make the news sooner than later – official statements will have to be released after the investigation is complete.” Considering. “You’ll see me there eventually.” He sounded disheartened by this but Merlin supposed he too would be in the same situation. Arthurs phone pinged, and Arthur pretended to ignore it, his finger tapping the screen absently and his focus on Merlin. Merlin wasn’t fooled for a second.

“Is that Leon?” He craned his head to check, and Arthur’s hand spread out to cover the screen.

“Maybe, but I do know other people.” The way he was careful to cover every piece of the screen, shifting the phone closer to him and away from Merlin was worrying, and a little annoying. Merlin let it happen, and waited pointedly until Arthur was checking the screen with an eye role. He barely even blinked before closing the phone again.

“I have to go.” Arthur rose, thumbing out a text, the lines on his face pinching.

“Leon?” Merlin hoped.

“My father.” Which Merlin understood meant nothing good. Arthur was already throwing some money on the tray (why was he paying? Merlin had meant it as a gift), then moving for the exit.

“Call me tomorrow.” Merlin demanded, because he didn’t want Arthur to disappear for another three days.

Arthur stopped, only two steps away and looked up from his phone. “The day after.” He promised. “I have something on tomorrow. But the day after, I promise.”

Merlin took that promise like an oath and felt himself calm in the face of it. Arthur would be back, and maybe Merlin would take him somewhere where Arthur would win (not bowling) and he could bully a better expression onto that stubborn face. It was a nice thought, and he let it loop around while Trilly ranted throughout the remainder of her shift.

 

Merlin was reading, because he liked to do that (he told himself that most the time) and the document Gaius had sent him was actually rather fascinating. Merlin wasn’t sure how much store he put in prophecies, but it was good to see what was around, after all they’d been right about the rebirth, so it was possible they could be right about other things. He did hate that it was such a long time since it had all happened, because who had said what seemed lost in thousands of years of translations and rewritings.

He was stuck on one word, which seemed to translate to three different (prophecy changing) words of their own and he would have to decide which had been meant (which made it about 33% less likely) and he wasn’t sure if ‘fish’, ‘table’ or ‘tree’ really opened up much for him anyway.

With a cringe he got up. His brain was fried, and he needed dinner. He stretched his back as he walked out of his little lounge room into the kitchen. The clock in there said it was 10pm, and he reminded himself that if he didn’t do the translations he would just lie staring at his roof for another three hours until his brain became too clouded to realise it was trying to run in vicious useless circles.

He was just drinking down a glass of water when he noticed his phone, charging on the bench, was blinking insistently at him. He drained the glass, turned back to the fridge and rummaged through the freezer for a microwave dinner. Which would taste awful, but he didn’t have the focus for something better. After he’d put it in the microwave he turned to the phone (that looked to be blinking faster, as if angry to have been ignored for so long).

He was expecting Gwaine, maybe Will. Instead an unknown number had texted him. It was from Leon, if the little sign off on it was to be trusted (and why wouldn’t he trust that?), but more confusing was that it was an invite to go out that night. Merlin checked the time again, checked his dinner (another two minutes) and reread the text.

‘Merlin. Come out with us, at Elemental. Arthur’s being a dick. Leon’

Merlin frowned at it, set the phone back on the bench (cord tangling up in the process) and turned back to the microwave. He got another drink of water while the last minute ticked down soul crushingly slowly, then jumped on the ‘open’ button to stop the horrendous final beeps. He juggled the food out onto the bench and watched the steam rise.

He could go out, it didn't seem like a horrible invitation, but he was starting to see that he was following Arthur around like a puppy. Besides Arthur had said they’d talk tomorrow, not today. Merlin was pretty sure he hadn’t missed a day in the middle. Which meant maybe Arthur didn’t want him there, after all Leon had invited him. Leon who didn’t like him had invited him (or maybe Leon was just angry at everyone). Besides he was working, doing something he’d been putting off in the company of Arthur, it was probably going to be the last night he’d get a chance at it if things continued as they were. Arthur was starting to eat into his time, even with a three days absence Merlin had thought of little else. It should have made it easier to work on translations, but an Arthur, constant and flesh, was so much more consuming than old texts that had fallen into histories cracks and been forgotten.

Merlin was typing in his rejection, as politely as he could, when the phone in his hand rang, the text disappearing.

Annoyed Merlin answered it (not before reading the caller ID this time), “Will.”

“I want to get drunk.” Ah, old friends, dispensing with pleasantries since the beginning of time.

“Call Gwaine.” Merlin mumbled around a fork full of… something that might have been beef.

“I did!” Will sounded petulant. “He’s got a ‘job’ tonight – he offered to quit if I suck… well he used his usual charm.” Merlin made sure his laugher was silent. Gwaine probably didn’t even want to sleep with Will anymore (he was rather frivolous in his attentions) but Will was so disconcerted by it that Gwaine would probably never let up his propositions, just to see the other mans responses. “What are you doing?”

“I was just replying to a text. I’m popular tonight.” Well one phone call and one text, from different people… it was actually not an exaggeration. Unless work called, but he didn’t count them at all.

“Was it Arthur?” Will was pouring enthusiasm into all his questions. Merlin felt a bit guilty that he wasn’t going to bow down and go out partying with his friend. Clearly Will was trying here. Will’s voice raised in pitch and fever. “He want’s you to go out too! It’s a sign.”

“It was Leon.” Merlin cut that off as quickly as he could.

There was a slight pause, “How many new friends are you going to have Merlin?” A slight whine. “That’s three – I’m going to start getting confused with all these names.”

“Anyway, Leon says they’re out partying at Element.” Because if he had to admit to Will that his new friends were all knights of Arthurs court… well Will fortunately didn’t recognise any of the names. When they ran into Lancelot though… well that’d be harder to hide (not that Merlin wanted to meet Lancelot… if he was real… the man had betrayed Arthur by stealing his wife, that was unacceptable).

“Element? Wait, that club that opened last year and we saw that drunken twat getting roughed up outside of?” An edge of excitement had crept into Wills voice and Merlin wanted to backtrack, apparently that distraction had been too effective.

“Actually yeah, I think so.” Merlin and Will and watched the whole thing, lots of people had. “Anyway-“

“We’re going!”

“No. I have-“

“Text him back.” Will demanded. “Have him meet us at the door, so they’ll let us in.” Which was a sensible plan, if Merlin had wanted to go out.

“Will.” Merlin tried, but he knew it was a try, because Will was hard to sway once he got that determined tone in his voice.

“Don’t you want me to meet your new boyfriend?” Will sounded genuinely hurt, and Merlin had to filter through tone to know that Will was actually a little uncertain on that front, but overall just wanted to go out on the town.

“That’s not- we’re not-“ He stopped himself and the words that were piling on top of each other to try and form a protest that would fall on deaf (intentionally) ears. Will was determined, there was no going back now. Will would go without him, if he had to, and Merlin wasn’t sending Will off to talk with knights and king on his own. Merlin was far too selfish for that sort of thing. “When will you be here?” He signed.

“I’m getting off the bus right now.” Will was a smug bastard.

Merlin checked out his window to the bus stop down the street, and sure enough Will waved at him cheerily from the stop, a big tin bus rolling away into the distance.

“Bastard.” Merlin groaned and let his dusty curtain fall back into place.

 

It was in the cab over there, after Merlin had texted Leon back to confirm the invitation and had gotten an enthusiastic response, including a confirmation of address, that Merlin started to feel uncomfortable. Before it had been an idea, but now it was knowledge. He knew he was going to be intruding. He wasn’t sure what Arthur was doing at the club, but he was sure he wasn’t supposed to be there. Unfortunately with Will at his side, and Leon expecting him there was no way to turn tail and run (not yet, it had to be more dire before he took that course of action).

“He put us on the door?” Will repeated disbelievingly.

“Apparently we were added to their party. Merlin Benton and William Wallace.” Merlin recited.

“That’s not my name.” Will sounded affronted, Merlin merely smiled.

“I know. But he seemed to think it was hilarious. I wouldn’t be surprised if he calls you McWallace all night.”

“Or Braveheart.” Will added then sighed. “Right. Lets get to the drinking quickly then. It’s the only way.” Merlin laughed at his friend. It was probably just as well Gwaine wasn’t coming, Will wouldn’t be able to handle that much antagonism all at once. Everyone had limits (Will’s were low).


	11. Angry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEW IMPORTANT NOTE: I skipped an update. I just... thought I'd put it up already. And I didn't check. I'm sorry. So now there's the chapter before this which only one person noticed was missing. >_> Yes, so Chapter 10 is the latest update. -___- Just to confuse you all with my stupid.  
> *hides in cave of shame*
> 
> \---  
> There’s an OC in this chapter. He is pretty much irrelivent, but I included him anyway. Don’t freak out that I’ve gone and mary-sued. Think of him as one of those random background characters who never had more than a seconds screen time and never had a spoken line. Irrelevant.

Merlin did not expect to spend the night getting rat shit drunk, not when he’d promised himself he wasn’t going to touch alcohol again. But he did anyway. The problem wasn’t obvious at first, he and Will got into the club without any trouble at all. Merlin had been checking they were on the door ready to line up at the end of the queue to wait when the bouncer had waved them both in hurriedly. Treated like some sort of prodigal sons.

Will had giggled, he’d been so thrilled by it, and Merlin had questioned which of the two of them was actually gay since no heterosexual male actually giggled. Will had ignored the ribbing (it was a common note of mockery between them) and bounded down the stairs. Apparently this club was ‘underground’ which seemed odd. Merlin thought he’d dislike it, he always liked big open windows, but the dark open space room was pleasant.

Unlike their usual clubs (when they went clubbing) the floor wasn’t sticky (maybe that happened later at night?), the lighting wasn’t just dark, it was strategic and the people inside made Merlin feel underdressed and awkward.

Spying the group of men near Leon had been calming, because they were all dressed much more casually and Merlin thought that he could blend in with them easily enough, except he was skinny and any one of them could probably snap his neck with a tiny flick of the wrist. His assessment settled on ‘army boys’ a few seconds later. Why else would they all be so similarly built? They all seemed ready to fight at the drop of a hat. Fire fighters would have been his other guess (hmm fireman calendar) but he knew who Arthur hung around with, and with Leon and Percival standing in the midst he knew this was the unit. The unit being tried for war crimes.

They all seemed fairly happy considering their trial, and although they were more restrained than most army boys Merlin could tell they were, overall decent people. One guy in the back of the group tickled Merlin wrong, and he’d kick the man out the second he could, but the rest seemed good.

Leon saw him before he’d gotten to the group (Will had stuck one step behind him on the trip across the room) and it was only as Leon engulfed his shoulders in a bears grip that Merlin noticed Arthur sitting at one of the tables looking sullen. His temper rolled off him in waves, vivid in its intensity and unrelenting.

Merlin frowned at Arthur trying to figure out what was wrong, because under the anger, under the unyielding hatred there was something darker and slippery and Merlin knew that was the real problem, but he couldn’t pin it down, and unless Arthur said it Merlin suspected he would never know what it was.

“Merlins here!” Leon called attention to the captive under his arm, and all the unit turned to look at him. Fifteen men in all, and not a one of them lacking in physical prowess. Merlin was a bit overwhelmed, he felt small and insignificant compared o the lot of them. He also realised he was being assessed, not as a friend who’d just shown up, but as their Captains lover. The assessment was not comfortable, and Will was standing back from it all, waiting to introduce himself (without an arm around his shoulders because he hadn’t met any of them) and letting Merlin deal with humiliation all on his own.

“Hi.” Merlin waved awkwardly at the group. The move made some of them frown, and some of them slide amused glances at Arthur which were ignored.

Arthur barely looked at him but didn’t ignore him. “Leon invited you.” Arthur made clear.

“Yeah, and Will.” Merlin wasn’t going to let his friend get away with being anonymous and grabbed the other mans arm to drag him into the melee. “Will, this is… umm… I don’t know most of them.” He admitted, sounding sheepish. One of the men actually threw his head back and laughed, tumbling back into one of the chairs near Arthur and looking like all his Christmas’ had come at once. “This is Leon.” Merlin tried to sound like he knew what he was doing, and he felt the knots in his spine straightening out until he was standing his full height and looking back at these men. He was not a timid lamb. “That’s Percival.” He motioned to the other man he knew. “Arthur.” He didn’t motion, because Arthur was the one glaring at Will like Will was some sort of hostile terrorist and Will seemed to be quite as aware of how he was being seen. “And-“ Merlin motioned at a fourth man and stopped, blanking. He was smaller than the other men. Merlin had barely seen him amongst the crowd. But he was grinning with all his teeth and Merlin thought that a dark alley would be a bad place to meet this man. He also knew immediately that this man was another of the knights. “-ah never mind.” He continued.

“Useless.” Will chided, and tried to look like he belonged in the group, strong and at Merlins side. Completely natural for them both to be there. Will fed Merlin strength that he appreciated.

“Right.” And Arthur stood up, pushed through the group and disappeared into the crowd. Merlin checked Leon’s expression, or tried to, because Leon was following Arthur with his eyes and the grip he had on Merlin was solid.

“Drinks!” Will decided loudly.

“It’s the new guys round!” One of the soldiers decided loudly and suddenly a pile of orders were being thrown at Will who merely looked at Merlin expectantly. If he was never going to see them again Merlin would ignore the whole order. But even though his bank would die tonight, he memorised the order and made his way across to the bar. Will at his elbow.

“You’re not really going to pay, are you?” Will sounded shocked.

“It’s fine.” Merlin was pretty sure he had next months rent in there to cover a single round. If they asked for more rounds he was damned. Merlin ordered each drink perfectly, and was about to pull his wallet out when Arthur stepped up behind him, close, closer than he should be. Chest to Merlins back and Merlin froze, hand on his wallet but unable to reach for it. Will’s eyes seemed unable to do anything but flick between them rapidly.

Over his shoulder Arthur spoke, and Merlin was shocked that he felt so small with Arthur crowding in on him like this. “These two.” Arthur motioned to Will, Merlin could only see the movement out of the corner of his eye, focused straight ahead with resolution. “They’re on our tab. If they pay for a single drink while they’re here I’ll tell your boss.”

There was a moment, where Arthur lent in a little harder, and Merlin found his ribs pressed hard against the counter. Then it was broken and Arthur was gone and Merlin was left with wobbly legs and the desperate desire to sink to the floor and wonder what had just happened. He knew, of course because Arthur was over free with touches, but it had never felt so entirely consuming as it did just then.

“We’ll bring them over.” The bartender waved them off, and Merlin snagged his water and Wills whiskey from the pile before going back over to the soldiers. Will a step ahead of him snatched his drink away.

“He put us on their tab.” Will was disbelieving, and insanely pleased.

“Good. I couldn’t afford those drinks.” Merlin would have forced it to work, but he was glad he didn’t have to loose a whole weeks wages on one round. Jesus did they charge in blood around here?

“Are you a kept lover?” Will was walking backwards, watching Merlin with a grin. Merlin didn’t even dignify it with a reply. He reminded himself that he’d told Will a hundred times that it had happened once and that was all. Nothing else was coming out of this. Nothing sexual anyway. “So, we’re part of their company now?”

“They’re in the army.” Merlin decided he should clear that up before Will annoyed any of them into trying to kill him. He liked Will, but Will had his ways. Just like Gwaine.

“Well I’m not paying, so who cares?” Will returned to the group, falling in amongst their crowd with the ease of someone who became friends with whoever they were drinking with. Not as well done as Gwaine would manage it, but fairly well. Merlin was a little impressed, because mostly he wasn’t sure how to handle all these men while he was trying to handle all the changes in his life. Not that he was good with people at the best of times. Superficial friendships he could manage, but an actual connection? There was a reason Will was his only friend.

“Right.” Merlin sipped at his water, he wanted to ask who the third knight in the group was but couldn’t dredge up the courage. He found Percival at his shoulder, looking at his drink with disdain.

“Is that water?” The man demanded, horror comically written across his face.

“I’m not drinking,” more horror, “tonight.” Surely that would be okay. Percival frowned.

“You can come back and get the car tomorrow. Have a drink with me.” And he was reaching for someone else’s drink (some of the men had moved away and were on the dance floor, their drinks now irrelevant).

“I’m not driving.” Merlin insisted, which apparently was a bad thing to say around a group of men who seemed built around the morals of peer pressure and war. Merlin back peddled, he couldn’t even call money into question. He nearly blurted out ‘I’m an alcoholic’ but managed to stifle those words down and out of the way where they wouldn’t come out. Dear lords but his brain hated him some days. “Just not drinking tonight. I’ve got an exam in the morning.” Which made anyone in hearing distance cringe and Will snort a laugh out at him. At least Will wasn’t saying anything to contradict him. He wasn’t going to drink, but nor did he want to alienate these people yet. He’d save that for later, knowing how his life usually went.

Percival didn’t push further though, so Merlin was able to relax with his water. He thought the silence would linger, was okay with that. Until Percival broke it quietly. “Arthurs drunk.”

Merlin followed Percival’s nod and found his once and future king entangled with a strange girl on the dance floor. She was in a sparkly mini skirt and some sort of spaghetti string top that seemed to be having troubles staying on. Large hands had slipped in below some of those black strings and rested on tanned skin. Merlin was arrested by how large Arthurs hands looked when wrapped around someone so small, and then he ripped his attention away because he didn’t have the right to care. Percival was looking at him, thoughtfully.

“Very drunk.” Percival added.

“So?” Merlin took a gulp of his water and it did nothing, just felt empty and hollow and he wouldn’t be able to forget anything if it was just water, and he certainly wouldn’t be able to ignore something that twisted his insides like a vicious torque.

“Just saying.” Percival patted his arm and then moved away.

Merlin stood angry, considered the tableau again feeling his anger mount. That woman wasn’t anyone, she wasn’t Gwen, she wasn’t even anyone from the past. No-one else deserved to have Arthur like that. No-one else. Merlin scrunched his annoyance into a hard ball and stormed over to the couple.

He waited until he was almost on them, looming over the pair as best he could.

“That’s not her.” He chided, feeling a smug sense of satisfaction when Arthurs eyes moved up to glare at him.

“You sure are you?” Arthur replied, hard edged and unforgiving. “Have it all worked out? Good for you.” And then turned his attention away. Merlin felt a wave of heat shift through him and clenched his fist to keep it in. He would not burn that expression off the mans face. Gwen, he insisted, deserved better than this. “When you find her, tell me. Until then go away, Merlin.”

The woman looked over at Merlin as well, dismissive, uninterested, her hands in inappropriate places on Arthur and getting more so.

“You should-“

“Get lost.” Arthur ordered. Hard and fast and one of his men were near by and looked over, frowning at what he saw.

“You all right, Arthur?” The man checked.

“I will be.” Arthur shifted the woman and he moved, his back to Merlin and Merlin could only stare at they moved away. Well that cinched it. On behalf of Gwen, Merlin was annoyed, and angry, and a little bit pissed and he wasn’t going to watch this sober. Not like he had to worry about Arthur jumping him when Arthur had both his hands busy on more female flesh than Merlin had ever cared to see.

Merlin huffed his way back to the table of drinks (most of the soldiers having moved off to their own thing, though one of them was sprawled out across two chairs looking at a loss regarding gravity. Up and down seemed to hold no meaning for him. Leon was stone cold sober, and watching Arthur like a hawk. Merlin nearly spat at him about how very glad he was to have been invited to Arthurs make out session with random whores, but wasn’t sure if his angry tone would let the sarcasm through, or if he had any real right to be angry. He clamped down on it all instead.

Merlin took a seat near the drunk soldiers feet and picked up the first glass of hard liquor he could see on the trays. It didn’t matter what it was, he wanted to be drunk, because maybe it would make things better. It was stupid logic and he was going to cling to it because he wasn’t going home now, and there was nothing else he could do but watch Arthur sow his oats, which sounded as appealing as sewerage.

He decidedly did not think about that hand, any hand, or where Arthur was putting it. Or about how he’d enjoyed that feeling before and thrown it away because of Destiny. He hated destiny so much right now. Merlin swallowed down the drink in one go and it burnt all the way down, but not hard enough and not hot enough and Merlin wondered if he could drink fire, because it seemed that would distract him. It’s not like he had to worry about anything not when Himself over there had his tongue down some girls throat. A different girls throat , ick hygiene.. (and where had the other one gotten to?)

Merlin had the second drink down, and felt Leon shift and met the mans eyes for a brief flicker of a smile – fake and obviously so. Leon looked away again, discontent and Merlin didn’t care. He would burn this feeling out of himself if it took the whole bar to get rid of it.

 

Will found him an hour later, lost in his own wobbly sensations he could still see Merlins mood. “What?” Will plonked down on the seat next to him and sought out Arthur. “Because your man’s still trying to grind through some girls clothes out there?” Will was clearly displeased, and also envious of the other mans abilities. Though Merlin had seen him chatting with some of the pretty women taking a pause off the dance floor. That hadn’t, apparently, gone anywhere. Will wasn’t the sort to dance unless he really liked the woman. Will and Merlin got on well in that area. They weren’t willing to settle.

Gwaine had not, Merlin had been forced to argue, been settling. It had been a strategic choice that made sense, and he had been happy with. Even if nothing had happened he never would have regrated it. Gwaine could be trusted, for all his tomfoolery.

Merlin frowned at the crowd and his drunk logic skipped to the next best topic, one that wasn’t Arthur. “There’s only three knights.” He grumped, and at Wills puzzled look Merlin waved at the scattering of soldiers. They where the largest group in the room, and seemed to be the centre of many peoples attention. “In his unit. I thought there’d be more.”

“Knights?” Will tested the word, his expression clouded.

Merlin blinked through his haze at Will and felt a slither of warning curl around the base of his brain, but he ignored it, just as he ignored when the drunk soldier kicked him in the midst of a bad dream. “There’s Gwaine.”

Will rubbed his eyes, “Of course there is. Sir Gwaine. Of course there is.” His friend glared hard. “Who else?”

“Leon!” Merlin nodded, feeling pleased because he had found Leon, he had found Arthur. They were coming together, even if he’d only found four of the knights. “Percival, and… that guy.”

He pointed where he knew the smaller man was (but couldn’t see him) and decided it didn’t matter if Will knew one from the other. It wouldn’t do anyway, until Merlin had talked to the man he felt it was best to keep him secret. Maybe the other knight was Lancelot. Merlin cringed at the idea, but couldn’t dismiss it.

“He must have more than that though. I mean… some of them got made up in later adaptations – but a King had more than four knights in his inner circle. I mean, they’re- they hold the land. There’s more than four regions to Albion.”

“You’ve been drinking too much.” Will cheerfully decided and swapped Merlins empty glass with his own. “Have that.” He set the empty one aside with a wince and shuffled through the cups on the table. Merlin sipped at Wills drink and refused to give it up even when Will came up empty handed. “So, what’s the problem? They’re somewhere else? That doesn’t seem too bad.” Will was looking at the bar and a woman standing by it ordering a drink. Merlin barely registered her, she was harmless, nice, she hadn’t been part of Arthurs grope fest so far so she could live. “Oh look, a hot girl on her own. As fun as your obsessions are I’m going to go over there. Take my chances, so to speak.” Will considered Merlin, who was still drinking the whiskey and making tracks in it rather quickly. “Okay.” Will shrugged and walked way, making his way to the woman and Merlin stopped caring, his attention moving back to Arthur and his ‘dancing’ (yeah right Merlin wasn’t innocent enough to believe that definition in this lifetime).

 _Screw it_ , he decided and pushed himself up, the table was used to steady himself when the room denied his order to stay still, but he was up and moving across the dance floor before he could think of a reason not to be.

He invaded Arthurs space easily, and saw the confused look on the woman’s face with a vicious triumph he would savour after this was done. “That’s enough.” He ordered taking a grip on Arthurs arm and tugging. Arthur stumbled, apparently not so sure on his feet at all. Merlin was about to gloat, because he’d gotten across the floor without running into anyone and without tripping over his feet (well once, but no-one had seen it) but before he could get words out Arthur was glaring at him. And the next thing he knew he was being walked backwards, a hard fist gripping onto the collar of his white shirt.

“Are you telling me what to do?” Arthur growled it, low and rough and Merlin’s back hit the wall before he had time to think of anything but the shivers racing along his spine and the way his entire body flushed with heat. Arthurs focus on him absolute and addictive. He caught at Arthurs wrist with his free hand, the other still attached to the clenched bicep of Arthurs free arm. Merlin breathed in quick gasps, trying to control the responses that wanted to flood his body. He wanted this to happen, wanted to feel every fibber of Arthur as they melded together. He thought they could probably do it, mix and still find their individual pieces, because they were as old as history and they had survived this long, they would survive forever more. Immortal, eternal, and together. Nothing could tear that apparent, nothing could break them now they’d clashed again. Nothing could be more important.

“Because,” Arthur yanked him forwards then shoved him against a wall, Merlin hadn’t even known it was coming, nothing existed outside of Arthur and that hand that had snuck onto his waist, toying with the hem of his shirt. Arthur breathed into his ear, nose pressed against flesh and mouth shifting down Merlins jaw, questing and pressing “That would be very very bad, wouldn’t it?” Arthurs teeth scrapped the edge of his neck, stubble rubbing against his own, and Merlin groaned thoughtlessly, because he was not meant to feel this good about anything, especially not Arthur. And of course it was Arthur, everything was Arthur. He’d dedicated all his lives to the man, of course he’d surrender everything else to him.

Merlin forced his voice to work, forced it past the lump and the straining tightness in his throat. “Yeah,” He managed, strained, “right, sorry.” He put distance between them, pushing Arthurs upper body back, his lower body remained firmly fixed in place and Merlin could not shift him. “What was I thinking?” The smile didn’t even flicker on, “Get back to it then,” he jerked his head towards the dance floor and all those women who seemed all too easy to be inappropriate with (for Arthur at least), he steeled himself against emotion and attacked as hard as he could because he was hurting too, “peel her off the floor for a quick toilet fuck and you’ll still feel like shit afterwards.” Because it was very obvious Arthur was on edge. And there was something broken happening and Merlin couldn’t pin down, but this wasn’t the man he’d gotten to know and he wasn’t dumb enough to believe this sham of behaviour Arthur was throwing about.

He noted the clenched fists and the look on Arthurs face was murderous. Merlin felt vindicated, but couldn’t explain why.

“What would you know?” Arthur lashed out, sneering, “Fucken Merlin knows best. I’m not listening to you, and your… words.” He tried to motion with his hand, but it was still latched around Merlins shirt and it jerked Merlin instead of pointing at anything. “Now,” Arthur ground out, “stay here, or I’ll… you wont like it.” Which wasn’t a great threat, but Merlin could feel the anger radiating of the man and even though he knew he was right and he knew that Arthur needed to vent, being punched seemed entirely unwelcome.

But Arthur didn’t move straight away, just stared at Merlin, unresolved and Merlin didn’t know this man well enough to know what to say to push him in the right direction. The chance of a mistake was too risky. Merlin remained still, ignoring the hand that had slipped below the waistline of his shirt, or the one roughed around his shirt and clinging with white knuckles. He just waited and let Arthur make up his own mind about where this was going, and he was disappointed when the man finally released his hold, turned in a perfect semi-circle arch and left Merlin pressed up against the wall and lost in a moment that was more anger than sex but felt just as life altering.

Will came to check on him five minutes later and Merlin barely flinched when his friend jostled him with a shoulder, “Just friends, ha?” Will teased.

Merlin threw himself from the wall, hunting out the alcohol and anything that might take this from him. Anything that had even a moments chance of stealing it away and putting it where he could never find it again. He was hard and he was desperate and he was terrified of things he couldn’t help. He’d always thought he could help Arthur solve everything, but he had to get Arthur to let him in first. All the way in, not just a surface friend, or someone you pushed into walls and… did things to. No he needed this to be more than that. He needed Arthur to want and need him on as many levels as he had begun to need Arthur.

 

It wasn’t long before Merlin wouldn’t have been able to tell left from right, or if he could he didn’t want to. He supposed there was that whole ‘magic’ thing that would tell him the right answer (if he knew how to ask), though the trees really were very useful. But he might as well ask someone around him (side note; trees didn’t get drunk so they might be more useful amongst this crowd).

He watched in misery as Arthur led his current dance partner (that was her second round wrapped around the man, apparently she was determined and it was paying off) out of the room. They disappeared into the bathrooms, and Merlin felt his magic slip. A glass near by cracked, a drunk cursed when the bottle in his hands slipped out and crashed to the floor, and Merlin felt the room cool. He felt hot and dangerous and he merely clenched his glass and forced himself to stay still. He’d tried, Arthur had thrown his attempt back in his face, he would not try a third time tonight.

He was glad when one of the other soldiers sat down next to him, he wasn’t sure if he’d caught this ones name, but he seemed friendly and the hand he settled on the back of Merlins shoulders was cool and comfortable. Stabilising. Merlin let his focus shift to where it was useful – where he wouldn’t break the world, or want to.

“You’ve forgotten my name.” The soldier mused. He was leaning to the side a little, but so was Merlin. “Jonah.”

“Like… the whale?” Merlin struggled.

“What?” Jonah demanded. Merlin decided to change the topic, because… yeah he wasn’t going to explain that. “So you’re at university?”

“Ah, not now, I was, but… stuff.” He waved that away, money was the single most tedious and important part of his life. Besides Arthur. He was going to have to figure out how to use his magic to make some sort of profit. Maybe a nursery? Which would make him a plant councillor… he wasn’t sure that would be as grand as it might sound at first.

“I never bothered with that sort of thing, went straight on an enlisted when I was 16.” Which was a matter of pride for the man, and Merlin thought he had probably done more with his life than Merlin had. Probably been more places too.

Merlin wondered how far he’d go following Arthur. If Arthur would travel for state, he hoped he would, but there was no knowing and maybe Merlin would never see a country outside of Albion. Maybe he’d never see anything new again.

“I like to think.” Merlin defended.

Merlin shrugged Jonah’s arm off him when it slid around his shoulders and gave the man a small glare. He seemed nice enough, but… no. Jonah seemed unperturbed and shifted his chair a little closer. Merlin watched the hand settle on his knee.

“Well thinking is good too.” Jonah smiled, but Merlin was staring at that hand and trying to decide if he should remove it or let it go. He wished Gwaine were here, because that would be an offer that he would currently take up, despite all his assumptions to the contrary. He was just considering seeing what the man was going to do when Leon showed up, stone cold sober and looming over the two of them. His expression was hard, angry and focused entirely on the other solider.

“Jonah,” He growled, “no.” And Jonah moved his hands away slowly and deliberately, raising them in surrender.

“Fair game.” Jonah apologised (or sounded like he was apologising), Merlin was scowling at Leon because he hadn’t made up his mind and he didn’t like his options been dictated to him like that. Leon smiled in the face of his ire.

“Come on Merlin, I’ll take you home.” Leon reached out, Merlin didn’t move to met the hand.

“No.” He glared up at Arthurs knight.

“It’s really late.” Leon cajoled and reached down to Merlin, his hand closing over Merlins upper arm. And Merlin felt his anger spike into something dangerous. He would not leave Arthur, he would not walk away because it was painful. That was not what he was here for, it never had been, and he would see it all through, good or bad. He was nothing if he couldn’t be there for Arthur, even when he wasn’t wanted.

It was half a second, no more, and the next moment the hard hand that had wrapped around his arm, ready to manhandle him out of the building and ‘home’ yanked back. Merlin smelt fire and ash and Leon was nursing his hand close to his chest, staring back at Merlin with large wide eyes. His face was loosing colour, quickly, and Merlin felt the flare of anger shift out of him, and he felt the magic seep back into the recesses. He felt a moment of panic, because Will had made him stare at his own eyes when he cast a spell once, and he knew as he stared back at Leon exactly what it was that the man could see. Gold. Pure untainted gold glowing with the release of magic.

Leon did another double take, took a step forward then realised he was about to touch Merlin again and pulled his hand back with a protective snap.

“Jesus buggery Christ.” Leon stepped back, eyes wide, colour back in his face and something like comprehension shifting the features into the _familiar_. Merlin felt himself jolt with recognition, felt the moment when he stared back, not at the incarnation of an old college, but into the eyes of a man he’d spent days and weeks and years beside, talking, learning, fighting, _striving_. It floated him into a space he hadn’t known existed, and for a brief shinning moment, through the corner of his eyes, he could see everything around him with silver and gold lights, with blues and greens and things etched in the air that had never been visible before. It wasn’t auras, it was the world, in its entirety and he could see it all.

Merlin wanted to do whatever Leon had just asked him to do (what was it again?), anything to maintain this moment of completeness. But it began to fade into the recesses too quickly to be caught, but Merlin would never stop trying to find that again, and he could only hope he was as lucky enough to find it again. It was pure and true, and he felt real for the very first time in his life, but it was gone.

“Oh.” Leon stopped his retreat, “Oh.” Something calmer was over taking him, settling down over him and his training as a soldier, to deal with whatever came his way, began to take command of his limbs. “Right.” The mans eyes flickered across Merlins face with quick attention then those too stilled.

“I’m staying here.” Merlin thought that was already clear, but the words made it just that little clearer. Leon nodded once, checked the room, eyes stopping on the archway to the toilets for a moment and then in an automated response Merlin found endearing in the large man, Leon saluted him and left.

Merlin was impressed by each careful step as it lead the man back into the crowd, he was also aware, a lingering knowledge from long ago, that soon Leon would come to him and demand answers – because they all came to him for answers when they didn’t know. But for now the man would think it through on his own, work it out in his head until he was sure of what he knew.

Leon was just making a clear path over to the bathroom entrance (apparently privacy meant nothing in the army – which made a sort of sense) when Arthur stepped out and into the main room. He hadn’t been in there long, but he looked ravished. Merlin could see the tell tale signs, bruised lips, a mark under his jaw that was darkening, and his stupid rumpled red shirt was still unbuttoned in two places. Merlin glared at the buttons, hating them, and neatly (the buttons aware of his displeasure) they knitted themselves back into their holes. Merlin paused, surprised… that had… that had never happened before. Ever. Things didn’t move. He would assume he was imagining it, but the image of those unbuttoned buttons were fixed in his memory just like every word he had ever read. Stupid eidetic memory.

Merlin was less surprised when Arthurs eyes fixed onto him across the room, through the tail edge of the pulsing crowd, and he began an approach. Less surprised, but there was still surprise. Buttons doing themselves up hardly compared to an angry man stalking towards you. One happened far too often, the other… once (apparently, and yesterday he would have said never).

Without acknowledging Leon (or anyone in the room but Merlin) he strode over, all drunken tilt minimalized under the guise of purpose. Merlin watched the approach with a resentful dislike. Of course, now he was worth talking to. When Arthur got there, bright eyed and just a little wobbly Merlin tried to discern more from his clothes, but they seemed to have neatened and would give up no secrets. Apparently plants were more talkative (nothing that wasn’t alive had ever spoken to him so he wasn’t sure why he expected it now… honestly if clothes started talking to him he’d go insane).

“Got that out of your system did you?” Merlin did not make eye contact, staring over Arthurs shoulder because anything else was going to hurt.

Arthur tilted his head to intercept Merlins gaze and Merlin scowled up at the man. “No.” Arthur answered, all rumble, and Merlin’s scowl stayed perfectly in place, because he was not that forgiving. He managed to stay scowling for another solid minute before Arthurs expression caught him up. “I want to go home with you.”

Merlin snorted ungracefully. “Good for you.” Merlin waved at the crowd, “Go fuck another of them if you have the energy. I’m not doing shit for you.” He glowered when Arthur ignored him, stepping in closer, and even though Merlin was still hot with magic and anger Arthur settled both his hands on Merlins shoulders.

“You are spectacular.” Arthur lent down, and although Merlin knew he should feel crowded as his space was being invaded he felt nothing but interest when that intensity was turned completely on him once more. “Take me home and do what you want. I don’t care. These people,” Arthur didn’t even motion, hands locked on Merlins shoulders, unwilling to relinquish his hold, “they hold nothing compared to you. You burn brighter and hotter and more sincere than anyone I have ever met.” And he lent in, and Merlin let him. Let the kiss happen and he enjoyed it, and pride be damned he no longer cared if Arthur had gotten off with some girl in the bathrooms, or if he’d changed his mind and come out to Merlin himself. Because for a few more minutes he could pretend Arthur was his.

Arthur pulled him out of the chair, and even though Merlin still burnt, hotter now, Arthur didn’t notice and piece by piece began to take Merlins defences apart. And Merlin felt that little flare of anger burn hot again, and instead of falling passively into the kiss his pushed back, his fingers digging into Arthurs hair as he took a punishing grip on the man. Trying, through the physical, to say what he hadn’t managed to say before. That Arthur couldn’t push him away, Arthur couldn’t forget he existed any more than Merlin could forget him. Arthur couldn’t hide things from him, not forever, and Merlin wouldn’t stop until he knew everything. Because how could he do any of it if he didn’t?

He pushed harder, meld himself to Arthur and didn’t care when air was no longer there because for the first time that night he had control of what was happening and he would not let it go.

Merlin wasn’t sure how they did it, he remembered disengaging, fingers tight in Arthurs and being pulled out of the building, not to the stupid bathrooms where whores went for quick shags with men they didn’t know, but back to Merlins. And even though he didn’t remember the trip, only remembered where Arthur touched, where Arthur let him touch, and how much skin he had managed to reveal to the bitting winter chill before they stumbled through his door into an apartment that was cold and dreary and neither cared one jot.

They ended up on the bed, again Merlin wasn’t sure of the actions that led to it, but he knew they were both on the bed, over the covers and even when Arthur accidently elbowed Merlin in the chest (that Merlin also failed to understand the mechanics of, but also didn’t care) there was only a brief exchange of apologies before they fell back to mouths and bodies and touches that burnt and blurred and fused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a big update because I don't like to cut scenes half way. Please leave a comment, it means the world to me.


	12. Morning After

Merlin knew he didn’t want to wake up, and hated his body for making him do it. He knew what had happened, knew he’d let it happen, and knew he may as well kill himself now rather than face the fallout of it. Well, except he liked being alive, and he had things to do. Destiny got in the way of everything.

He opened his eyes, to the catatonic face of Arthur Pendragon (well that wasn’t his name, but whatever it was it wasn’t Miller). Arthur did not lend himself to sleeping gracefully and Merlin smiled, because that was okay and a little bit grounding. But not grounding enough because frankly this was a catastrophe. On the scale of shit he’d done that was stupid this was actually top of the list. Once was a mistake, twice was… well unforgiveable.

“You’re freaking out, again.”

Merlin checked, and yep, Arthur was half awake, squinting at him through squishy half closed eyes (one was closed more then the other, the pillow hampering the effort to open).

“Great.” Merlin was out of the bed in an instant, and ever Arthurs damned grabby hands weren’t fast enough to stop it. Merlin was also still half dressed, just not well enough to lie to himself (also memory, stupid memory doing it’s best to make sure nothing ever escaped). 

“Don’t freak out.” Arthur ordered (Ordered! Had they not got past that yet?). Merlin threw him a look of annoyance, pulled his pants on properly and did them up. Arthur, he noticed (but pretended not to acknowledge), had sat up amongst the blankets.

“I can freak out if I want to!” Merlin snapped back, and yes okay he was freaking out a lot, but he did not care and Jesus when Arthur found out everything he was going to throw a spare.

“I don't know what your problem is, sex isn’t that big a deal.” Arthur sighed, long suffering and Merlin spared him a glare, pulling on a clean shirt and noticing that Arthur was shirtless. He bit back complaints about Arthurs inability to clothe himself and settled on pacing.

“Maybe not to a man-whore like you.” Merlin snapped, picking up his old shirt and folding it, before realising it belonged in the dirty laundry and… where was that basket. His frenzy stilled and he recounted what he’d just said. Dear god, had he really just called his future lord _that_? Merlin had no choice but to admit he had, and then shrug it off, because it was said and there was no way to take it back now. Nor, Merlin checked, did it look like Arthur was anything like offended. He looked curious instead, which was a lot more dangerous.

“Merlin,” Arthur tried to speak. Merlin waved him back into silence and found a sock but didn’t know whose it was. Apparently black socks looked fairly similar no-matter who had worn them. Merlin sniffed it then recoiled in horror, glanced at Arthur and decided anything that rotten would have to be that mans. He threw it at the bed, but it didn’t go far (apparently socks weren’t terribly aerodynamic). Arthur watched the sock then looked back with a raised, mocking, brow.

“How many men have you been with?” Arthur forged on, despite being ignored. Merlin, affronted stopped to confront the monster.

“I like women too!”

“Not to fuck you don’t.” Arthur dismissed, as if that was all that mattered, “Now answer the question.” Again with the orders.

Merlin folded his arms, “No.” Then for extra effect; “It’s none of your business.”

“I wasn’t your first, was I?” Arthur was leaning forward on his knees, not untrusting or scrutinising, just watching him and Merlins panic went up another notch. No-one had the right to look that relaxed after a one(two)-night stand.

Merlin wondered what counted as first. He’d never looked into it properly and it seemed a more fluid definition than it had a right to be. After all he’d had that one blow job from Arthur Thirty-two but traditionally he thought of sex as penetration. At least the ‘first time’ tended to include penetration. He wasn’t sure though. He only had his own assumptions and this was not a topic he’d ever let Will go on about (although Will liked to poke at the topic to freak Merlin out).

Merlin caught himself, saw Arthur reading his own answers, in his expression and the delayed reply, so threw himself into a committed answer. “No. Of course not.” Merlin laughed. “Why would you even think that? Besides I have all these ‘boyfriends’, not exactly saving it, am I?” Merlin rolled his hand in a moving on gesture. “Besides I’m 21. Of course I’m not a virgin.” Which was entirely true for the wrong reason. He might have been before The Arthur, but he wasn’t now, no matter the technicalities to it.

Arthur made a surprised noise before letting his upper body fall back flat onto the bed, the blankets puddled in his lap. And Merlin felt a thud of dread fill him, he didn’t know what that response meant.

“Are those three in the flat?” Arthur distracted him.

Merlin didn’t think, just closed his eyes for half a second, “No. They’re downstairs.” He nearly added ‘in a car’ and ‘that other guy isn’t with them’ and ‘they’ve been up to the flat door several times through the night’ (even he didn’t know how he knew that), but it was all obvious to him.

“Hand me my phone.” Arthur, still sprawled and looking like he had no plans to move wiggled his fingers hopefully. Merlin felt a strange sense of compulsion and started to hunt the stupid thing out.

“Where is it?” He checked the most likely places and resorted to kicking at Arthurs clothes tentatively. He felt the connection of keys and something hard plastic and bent down to check what he’d found. “Ah, here it is.” He pulled the keys out, and the phone. He didn’t bother handing, but threw the phone over at Arthur, and the prat caught it easily, face still turned to the roof.

Merlin tried to ignore Arthur as he typed something out on the phone, but he was hyperaware and every move the man made seemed to be more important than even Merlins own. He realised he was standing still, pretending not to look at Arthur, only after the message had been sent.

“Let them in, they’ll have breakfast.” Arthur demanded and although Merlin wanted to argue on principal he wanted breakfast more so he went to wait for the knights at the door.

Leon had nothing, Percival a large bag of something that smelt freshly baked and instead of the other knight one of the soldiers from the night before (Jonah) stepped in.

“Where’s the other one?” Merlin was a little perturbed by the stranger (though Jonah was harmless enough). He’d kind of wanted to meet the other knight.

“Which other one?” Arthur was in the bedroom doorway, looking ruffled and unapologetic, but at least he had thrown his shirt and pants on, no matter how rumpled they looked.

“I don’t know.” Merlin got odd looks for it.

“He meant, Manus.” Leon supplied. “You’re looking better, sir.”

Arthur ignored Leon. “You spoke with Manus a lot last night?”

Merlin shook his head quickly because there was accusation in that voice and sleep roughened it was a terrible sound.

“I just noticed him.” Merlin tried and then he wondered what he was doing. Sure they’d had sex, sure Merlin had controlled the entire encounter, but he did not have to excuse himself for _talking_ to someone else when Arthur had _shagged_ someone else before turning to Merlin. Even if Arthur had only made out with all those women it wasn’t even on the same level, it never would be.

Arthur repeated that with an incredulous expression. “Right.” He decided, “Food.” And motioned his minions (Merlin included) into the kitchen. Merlin made sure Arthur went first, not out of respect, but because he didn’t want to cede to Arthur. He wanted it to be clear he went in there under his own power and orders (apparently he wasn’t going to be in the army in a hurry).

In the end Gwaine showed up, disappointed to have missed the nights fun, but made himself very comfortable amongst the other knights (and Jonah) and ate most of Merlins share of the food. Merlin tried to send him out to get more food, but Gwaine laughed and the other men did too (Leon seemed more cautious around Merlin than he had before). Merlin felt decidedly annoyed by the whole thing and maybe it was more to do with how he’d woken up and Arthurs actions the night before, but it was still annoying. Despite it all there was something calming about the banter (which carefully avoided discussing the night before on all fronts) and stole away Merlins annoyance and left him feeling much more amicable towards the world even if he knew, logically, he should be angry.

Will, when Merlin called him to try and bring sanity to the world again, told Merlin to fuck off and deal with his hangover on his own. That was when Merlin realised that he should very much be hung over and that he wasn’t… which wasn’t bad, but it was strange. Arthur too was much more alert than he had a right to be, and Merlin wasn’t sure if he’d seen these other three men drink more than one drink each over the entire night.

He realised, for the first time (and didn’t he deserve a kicking for taking that long?), that they had been on guard. They had been on duty and while Arthur got drunk and lost himself they had been watching his back. Merlin wasn’t sure why they did it, but he was thankful that they did. Thankful that there were a few less openings in Arthurs shields because of them. Even if Arthur was a prat and deserved whatever it was that he got (Merlin liked to pretend he thought that anyway).

 

It was later, after he’d shuffled them all out of his house, Arthur strategically positioned between Leon and Jonah so Merlin wouldn’t be stuck with awkward conversations (he had no idea how it had actually worked, but by Arthurs expression it was clear he also had no idea how the tables had turned so quickly on him), that Leon found him.

Merlin was surprised by Leon’s abilities, since he was sitting in a park. It was dark and overcast, the chill in the air thick and comforting, and Merlin had found a niche against a tree trunk that was both comfortable and pleasant feeling (some trees just weren’t as welcoming as others). And in the middle of one thought and another Leon was in front of him. The tree’s awareness prompted Merlins and he looked up, lazy and thick with magic and Leon seemed unsurprised.

Merlin’s mouth twisted. “How did you find me?” He wondered if they could sense where he was, and wasn’t as thrilled with this as he was with his ability to find them. Fortunately Leon gave a vague sort of shrug, but also explained.

“I put a tracker on you when you and Arthur stumbled off last night.”

Merlin wanted to ask why Leon hadn’t stopped them, why he would slip a tracker on him (who the hell carried trackers – spare trackers – on them?) rather than shaking him sober and reminding him that sex was unimportant and, god damn it but, he’d regret it. But he didn’t think Leon would understand. There was nothing like the recrimination and damnation Merlin deserved in the larger mans eyes. Useless. Utterly useless.

Leon took up a place leaning against the tree next to Merlin, not invading his space, but part of it none-the-less.

“What do you want?” Merlin knew, of course he did, but he wanted Leon to ask, just in case Leon didn’t really know what he wanted here. Leon rubbed his hand thoughtfully, Merlin watched out of the corner of his eye, it was the hand that he had grabbed Merlin with. It didn't look burnt, but the angle made it hard to see clearly and Merlin wasn’t entirely sure.

“What was that?” Leon held his hand out to clarify and Merlin could see angry red skin.

“I don’t know.” Merlin was glad it wasn’t a proper burn, just heat exposure.

“Has Arthur-?” 

“No.” No Arthur didn’t know and Merlin had been expecting that question. Had seen it coming all the way back into the previous night when he’d been drunk and his magic had responded to desire rather than sense. He’d hoped maybe Arthur knew, but that moment of clarity and understanding… Merlin would know if he’d seen that in Arthur, he thought it would be worse still when it happened with Arthur. There was so much more history to connect. Besides there was no way to hide that sort of knowledge (Merlin ignored that he’d been doing just that for years now).

“Jesus. I mean – but, Merlin-“ and the way he said it, all familiarity and comradery and then Merlin was more than sure. Leon knew, he was burnt forever in the knowledge (not the memory) of a past life that shaped so much of their world today. Arthur may not have invented physics, or stopped a world war but he’d left a legacy and that legacy was looked to by millions. Merlin planned to make that legacy again, and let people see that it was possible to be good, and safe, and noble. He was willing to do anything to help make that possible. “I always knew there was something about him… but this? How- these things don’t happen, Merlin.” Leon sounded pained.

“Yes, they do.” Because that was a fact and Merlin would defend it if need be, especially against Leon.

“Yeah, okay. They do. Apparently.” Leon surrendered, “Who else?”

“Knows? No one, not the way we know.” Merlin added quickly.

“Who else is part of this?” Leon clarified.

“Can’t you tell?” Because Merlin wanted to know that, because when the next one realised he would be better ready to deal with it. If one could be ready to deal with such things.

“Percival and Manus.” Leon seemed sure.

“I’m not sure about Manus, but there was a man in your unit-“ Merlin didn’t want to give false information, though Leon seemed quite sure.

“I’ll introduce you next time. He doesn’t go out much though.”

“He will.” Merlin nodded, not because he thought the man would develop a social streak, but that impulse of ancient lives was going to start to fiddle with them all. Just as it had with Merlin for years. “Manus.” Merlin tasted the name carefully, he’d heard of Percival and Leon… Manus just sounds foreign, it hadn’t shown up anywhere in the documents but he would not doubt that feeling. “Gwaine as well.” Since Leon would realise eventually, and it was best to let him adapt to the idea as soon as possible. Besides what was the point of secrets between them at this stage?

Leon grimaced, “I don’t see it.” and that just made Merlins day, because Gwaine was a personal favourite of his already.

“Hmm,” he sounded as sage as he could, “but I see it, and that’s my job.”

Leon looked uncomfortable, like he’d questioned the orders given to him and only just realised, but he was still going to push ahead, “I suppose so. What about our Will?”

“No.” Merlin wished Will was sometimes, had played with the beautiful dream of having his best friend be part of the rest of his life, but meeting Gwaine had stopped all those dreams. Besides what they had was good and he wouldn’t give that up. “But he’s still my friend.” 

“Of course.” Leon nodded because, like a solider, he wouldn’t question what he was told. Why question a certainty? And Merlin was certain. “Well that’s that.” Leon straightened properly, full attention. “You need to tell him, of course. Even if he doesn’t believe it.”

Merlin’s shoulders dropped. “I know. I will. It can’t happen again.”

“That’s not why you have to tell him Merlin.” Leons warning fell onto deaf ears, and he seemed to realise this. He hesitated, couldn’t look at Merlin, and delivered his final blow, “I shouldn’t have invited you last night. It was a bad call.”

Merlin let out a huff, he’d seen this coming as well, “It was fine.”

“He’s not normally like that. It was a really bad day and I panicked. But I shouldn’t have done that to you.”

Merlin considered the apology, “If he needs me…” he didn’t need to finish it, to swear his presence, to swear his loyalty, it was a given. It was fixed so much in him that even if he didn’t like the man he would probably bend himself backward to obey him (fortunately he liked Arthur). It was disconcerting, but absolute. “It’s fine.” Merlin repeated, and Leon was unable to reply, so instead he turned away and left Merlin to the little park, and one of the brave duck who had snuggled up next to Merlins leg when neither of them had been paying attention. Sneaky duck. Merlin petted it with a gentle finger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment for the ducky. Duckys need love too.


	13. Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin makes some confessions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not relevant at all: I am proofing this story as I go, which may not be immediately obvious because it seems to need at least two runs of proof reading and I'm only doing the one. The biggest issue is that when I wrote it the first time I was very liberal about the tenses, as long as I got the scenes written I was fine with doing a chunk of it in a different tense. I've tried to catch them all, but some probably slipped through, sorry if they were distracting.

Meaning to do something, and doing it are two different things. Merlin knew that, but he was also decisive. If he wanted to run away and hide he did it, he didn’t think about it, he left friend and family behind and dealt with things the way he needed to. His mother had explained he was a terror when he was a child for that reason alone. But Merlin had decided, had been hedging it for a while but had most definitely decided that telling Arthur had to happen.

He could think of many outcomes to this task. Will had known him longer, accepted him more, and hadn’t been directly involved in the ‘destiny’ so he’d accepted it (if not believed it). But with Arthur an integral part of the whole thing (and there was no way to hide that once Merlin started telling all – names would give it away quickly enough) things wouldn’t go as smoothly. Merlin hoped for a Leon response, hoped even for that little extra push of magic to explain it all for him and he was ready to let it do what it wanted. Anything the magic wanted if it would make it easier.

When he got back to his apartment to find Arthur leaning against the door, eyes mostly closed and arms folded across his chest, Merlin decided it may as well happen now. It wouldn’t get easier tomorrow, or the day after, and it would stall whatever it was Arthur was there to discuss. Maybe, if he was very lucky, Arthur would never again speak of their indiscretions after this was over.

“Arthur.” Merlin prodded, and Arthur’s eyes snapped onto him. “You have to move, so we can go inside.” He motioned with his key, and waited.

“We?” Arthur checked.

Merlin only smiled as nicely as he could, “Yes, we. Now move.” He shifted the small bag of groceries he had gotten and unlocked the door just as Arthur shifted his weight off it. They both entered, Merlin with the prickle of unease that was only natural, Arthur with a stiff back and a guarded expression. That would only get worse.

Merlin lead them to the kitchen, nice safe territory (full of knives, dumbest choice ever but by the time he’d thought of that Arthur had sat down).

“We’re going to talk about this.” Arthur warned, his hands flat on the bench. Merlin flinched back, put the milk in the fridge while trying to keep his back to Arthur. “I don’t do drunken one night stands Merlin.” There was warning in his voice, and there was a suggestion of something perilous that made Merlin spin back into the conversation with a flurry. He did not want to talk about last night, ever.

“Before you begin,” Merlin hurried, and waved his hand absently at the fridge door. “I need to say something.” Which was true, but the words stuck in his throat distracted as Arthurs attention was fixed on the fridge, a frown forming between blonde brows. Merlin glanced at the fridge too. “Did you… want a drink?” It seemed normal to him (the fridge), and apparently it was because Arthur looked right back at him and didn’t look at the fridge again.

“No. What do you have to say?”

“You need to know; I’m not crazy. I sometimes use to think I must be, that something was wrong and I’d wake one day, lucid and in an asylum and-“ Arthurs eyes had gotten very wide and his back very ridged. His hands were no longer visible, under the table. Merlin wondered what weapons were to be found there, and realised there were probably far too many. “No, no.” He fluttered in agitation. “I’m not crazy. That’s what I’m saying.” He had to be firm.

Arthur raised a brow in mockery. “Are you sure? Because I’m starting to worry here.”

“You are Arthur Pendragon, the Once and Future King.” Merlin declared, loud and clear, and insane.

“That’s not my name.” Arthur corrected, the corners of his eyes tight.

“Not in this life time, but when you were first born in this world it was the name you were given… or a version of it.” Merlin still wasn’t sure why they had the modern names when after hundreds of translations and generations their names must have changed from what they were originally. Maybe even in this time the original name for Merlin would be odd (odder than Merlin – though that was hard to imagine).

“Pendra.” Arthur added a slightly cross-eyed look on his face as he fixed it on Merlin, “and you didn’t know that.”

“You said Miller.” Merlin thought he was being reasonable, but Arthur did not seem to see reasonability.

“Pendra, it’s my family name. Do you… know it?” There was struggle in that question, and Merlin thought maybe the name was famous. But it’s nothing in his brain. Nothing at all.

“Are you a movie star? But no you’re in the army. What about a sibling?”

Arthur cracked a smile, brief only, because apparently the rest of the conversation isn’t far from his mind. “So. I’m the Once and Future King?” Arthur asked it carefully, like he wasn’t not sure if he should be laughing or running and Merlin is trying to tread oh so carefully.

“Yes.”

“And you’re… Merlin?” His lips lifting, sneer like, and Merlin bristled at the mockery. “Jesus, what have you been smoking?” He did smile then, it’s forced and Merlin considered letting it hang as a horrible joke. Letting it go like ash in the wind, but he can’t do that now he’s gone this far.

“You have been reborn. You are to be the king of this land.” Merlin tried for honesty, sincerity, and maybe a sense of deep and uncounterable destiny, it failed. Completely. Arthur’s expression closed off entirely. Apparently he could tell Merlin was being serious.

“Stop it.” He ordered. Hard and fast.

“I have been reborn as your advisor and guard.”

“Merlin.” Arthur warned, and Merlin wanted to obey the order because it would be the easiest order to ever obey, but he can’t stop now. If he stoped now it would go into the background never to be spoken of again, and he can’t allow that to happen. This is his duty.

“You’re _knights_ have been reborn to stand at your side-“

Arthur rose in a single smooth motion, and if he had a sword (knife draw, across the room, at least the kitchen wasn’t too dangerous in the end) Merlin suspected it would be aimed at him, threatening violence for saying this.

“Sir Leon, Sir Percival, Sir Gwaine-“

Colour disappeared entirely from Arthurs face, he moved backwards a step. Shock setting in. “You have got to be – you’ve planned this!”

“You- we are all reborn. Reborn to safeguard the future of this realm. You were the king once, and once again you will be.” Merlin faced off Arthurs anger with his own determination. He could see too much disbelief, too much doubt and a fissure of hurt. And even if Arthur tried to hide it all Merlin could see it, because that was Merlins job, and his duty, and it was what he could do better than any other person in the world.

“You’re some sort of Wizard then? Like Harry fucken Potter?” Arthur’s voice was hitching, breaking, Merlin saw hysteria setting in. “Where’s your fucken magic wand Mr Wizard?” Something occurred to Arthur, Merlin didn’t know what, but it didn’t help anything because the revelation did nothing to calm the hysteria. “No.” Arthur didn’t wait for anything else, just swiped his hand dismissively and _moved_. Merlin raised his hands for defence, but the man was out of the kitchen and heading for the exit. Merlin chased him.

“You can’t go!” He squeaked it.

“Of all things I can do Merlin…” Arthur shook his head, reached for the lock. It didn’t budge under his attempts to open it and Merlin felt a smug sort of pride in that. Arthur turned to glare at him. “Open the door.” He ordered again, and Merlin wasn’t obeying that order for anything.

“I had to tell you.”

“That you’re not crazy, yes you said.” Arthur was pacing towards him, and Merlin reached for something to block the man with. A pillow, a stupid pillow, is all that came to hand and Merlin held it feebly between them.

“I had to tell you because we can’t do this anymore.” He pleaded. “You didn’t understand, I had to say it. You are my King. I can not – will not… it can’t happen again!” Merlin strained as he stepped back through the door to his bedroom, and instead of following Arthur stopped, blank again, and Merlin felt the chill of that expression, of how very much deadlier that was than anything else Arthur could do.

“Well you’re safe from that fate. Because you are never touching me again.” He turned sharply, stormed up to the door and with brute strength forced the lock to open (Merlin didn’t care how it happened but hated the lock for it). Then without a word, and without a glance Arthur left him.

Wordlessly the door closed behind Arthur, the lock clicking back into position and only then, with all the barriers in place did Merlin let himself stumble back and sit on his stupid bed and crumble inside where it hurt the most. Because there was nothing, no curiosity, no trust, no belief, no awareness, just anger and confusion – both of which made perfect sense. And Merlin was very very aware that he may have just lost Arthur forever and it _raked_ through him like the talons of a dragon, slow and painful and forever.

 

Merlin managed three hours before he dialled Arthurs number. The ringing cut off midway and he was forced to accept (he tried three times) that he was not going to be answered. He considered another phone, but the deception would only be resented, so he let his phone drop to the floor and lay on sweat mussed sheets replaying the previous nights drunken tangle of limbs with a sense of guilty pleasure (not the good, innocent, kind).

It took two whole days after that, Merlin curled into a ball on his couch before Will arrived, Gwaine on his heels and looking concerned. Merlin didn’t even look up at them, he knew Gwaine was there, and Will always came. He couldn’t gather his gratefulness though, and just curled into himself tighter.

“Did he dump you?” Gwaine demanded, and the softer tone of his voice, softer than his drunken anger made Merlin shake his head in a no, because Arthur could not be blamed for this.

“Is Hunith alright?” Will checked. Next to him Gwaine mouthed the name in question. “His mother.”

Merlin made a snort at that, dismissive, but Will relaxed at the sound knowing Merlins cues well enough to be sure Hunith was fine.

“Are you hurt?” Gwaine stood awkwardly by the doorway, watching as Will took the seat by Merlins head (dumping Merlins head in his lap) and carded Merlins hair thoughtfully. “This is Arthur though, right?”

Merlin nodded, feeling the tears tighten in the corners of his eyes and squeezed his eyes tight to keep them in.

Hesitantly Will asked the next question; “Did you tell him?”

“Yes.” Merlins voice cracked in half. His tears escaped, and he was crying in sobbing wretch’s the moment the thought had been allowed to twist out of the box he’d been trying to push it into.

“Told him what?” Gwaine asked it carefully and Merlin looked up at him, across the room.

“Everything.” Merlins smile was bitter, and harsh. “Everything important.” A laugh to match the tone and Merlin buried his head back down into his body, out of Will’s touch.

“Hey.” Will demanded. “Hey.” He caught Merlin’s shoulder, but did not force his friend to move. “It was always going to happen. You knew that.”

“I didn’t know it would hurt this much.” Merlin snapped back, being reasonable did not work for him right now, honesty be damned. “I didn’t know how much it would hurt… he should have believed me.”

“Merlin-“ Merlin jerked away from Wills touch and turned a glare to Will.

“You don’t have to believe me, or anything. But he was supposed to.”

“What’s this about, Merlin?” Gwaine drew attention to himself and Merlin glared up at the man, and knew from Gwaines double take that his eyes where gold because the magic was angry and it wanted to lash out just as Merlin did.

“It’s about history, and the future, and everything that matters.” Merlin shook his head. “Everything that should matter.”

“And you told Arthur about it-“

“And he left. He turned- He left.” Merlin spat every word and Gwaine didn’t respond but to stand there, looking uncertain of his actions. Merlin knew the man would suggest alcohol soon, it was how he escaped the pain of things. Merlin was tempted to take him up on it when the offer was made.

“Call him.” Gwaine reached into his jeans pocket and got out his phone.

“I tried.” Merlin growled.

“Yeah. Okay.” And Gwaine dialled a number on his phone, quick and decisive and Merlin realised too late what was happening. Before anything could be said Gwaine was talking. “Yeah I know, now put him on.” Gwaine demanded, all military and unyielding. Merlin shook his head in a no. Arthur would not talk to him. “A friend of mine,” Gwaine growled, low and threatening, the kind of voice that intelligent men avoided, “is in a crying mess stone cold sober. You will talk to him.”

Merlin resisted pulling the breath of sound coming from the phone towards him. Resisted only because he wasn’t sure if he could control it that well, not right now. The phone would probably come as well, and Gwaine had looked shaken enough by gold eyes.

“You want to talk to him?” Will checked, because he’d defend Merlin, even if he didn’t believe in him.

“I want him to want to talk to me.” Merlin admitted, because the idea of talking to Arthur right now was scary. “I wont take it back.” He defended when he saw the look Will was giving him.

“I know.” Will ruffled his hair as Gwaine held the phone out.

“Two minutes, he said he’ll give you two minutes.” Gwaine looked concerned, torn maybe. Merlin had no brain power to spare for understanding what was happening before him.

Two minutes could mean… nothing. Or everything. He held the phone to his ear and the world around him became nothing, only the huff of air on the other end.

“Are you there yet Merlin?” Arthur demanded, strain thick in his voice. Merlin wanted to draw it out, but couldn’t do it.

“Yes.” Merlin nodded feeling coiled and tense, ready for a blow.

“You had something to add?” Arthur kept demanding.

“I’m not crazy.” Merlin knew every word he spoke was wrong, but could think of nothing else to say. “And I only told you, so there were no lies. I didn’t want to lie to you.”

“Okay.” Arthur sounded far too amendable and Merlin knew he was in trouble, knew this was going to hurt more. “Say this is true. Say your Merlin, and I’m Arthur-“

“We are.” Merlin pleaded, but was ignored.

“-Say I have some great destiny, and that’s why you ever spoke to me.” He took a pause, and Merlin waited in terror, this was going to turn bad, “And you knew all of this. Knew we had some magical reincarnated crap life thing,” oh god, Merlin couldn’t think, “that means you used me.”

“No.” He barely whispered the denial.

“You used me.” Arthur repeated, harder. “Your only interest in me was ‘destiny’ you made that clear enough.” A derisive huff. “Admit it, if not for you psychotic-“

“Not psychotic!” Merlin shouted down the line. Because he would take many insults, but not that. It fizzed through him like a vicious poison, flooding into his veins and leaving him breathless and angry.

“Hang up.” Will ordered. Merlin clung to the phone harder.

“But you still used me.” Arthur ground back, just as angry, maybe more, and unyielding.

“No-“

“And your two minutes are up.” Arthur hung up, and Merlin was left with the beep of a phone disconnected and the knowledge that instead of achieving anything he only felt worse. Listless he handed the phone back to Gwaine.

“That went well.” Merlin told the room, then curled back into his ball and pretended none of them existed for a few more hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think that chapter should fill the angst quota for a few seconds. I also hope it's made a few people happy. :P


	14. Loss

The next time he saw Arthur he was not expecting it. He’d listened to Will and Gwaine discuss it, (though the details had been denied the knight) and it had been consensus that he leave Arthur alone for another week. That a week would calm things down a little. That a week might make the difference.

Gwaine had offered him alcohol and he and Will had spent the night telling Merlin every stupid story they could come up with. And even though Merlin had been there for most of Wills stories (there were two or three he hadn’t known about that shocked him) he still found the telling amusing.

He’d spent three days in one or the others company at all times. Like they thought he’d break. As if he could break anymore. Then he’d done what he always did, he’d made himself keep going. Because it wasn’t that bad. Three days? People had hated him for more. In high school there’d been a period of nearly two months when Will hadn’t spoken to him (he’d been convinced Merlin was trying to steal his girlfriend… it hadn’t been quite clear what Merlins sexuality had been at that stage), Merlin had survived that, and he would survive this.

Eventually, destiny holding, Arthur would give him a chance to make it better. He hoped.

He did not expect, after getting home from a eleven hour shift, to open his door to Arthur. He expected to open it to be a Mormon, at best, because Will was at university and Gwaine had another job going. He expected it to be the neighbour upstairs who seemed to have supersonic hearing and complained about his TV all the time (it wasn’t his TV, it was someone else’s, but she didn’t seem to understand that he didn’t watch TV). But Arthur, looking just as broken as he felt and Merlin couldn’t believe it was for the same reason. Not that it mattered, Arthur was broken and Merlin only cared about fixing it.

“Do you want to come in?” He asked, after the silence had dragged. Arthur was watching the floor, somewhere to Merlins right. He was dressed in heavy blacks, with silver cufflinks and a tie in soft yellow. It looked strangely like a uniform, but it clearly wasn’t. Arthur nodded, and Merlin stepped back to let him pass. Arthur did not move. “Do you…” Maybe he didn’t want to come in? But he looked distraught and Merlin decided that touching must be okay.

Gently Merlin reached out, curling his hand around a lax arm and was not brushed aside. He gently guided Arthur through the door, looking out to see if his ‘guards’ where there, but if they were they weren’t showing themselves. He didn’t care enough to feel them out, attention belonging only to Arthur once the door was shut.

“Lets get you inside.” Merlin murmured, leading the man one step at a time until he’d managed to move Arthur onto the lounge cushion on the right.

Immediately Arthur curled down into himself, elbows on knees, head in hands, fingers dragging into his hair. “I’m sorry.” His voice was whisper soft. Merlin matched it.

“What for?”

Arthur shook his head, “I don’t know.” His voice quivered. “I- today-“ he cut himself off. “I wish you’d been there.”

Merlin didn’t know what was happening, or what had happened. But he’d spent three days knowing Arthur hated him, and that had hurt, but seeing Arthur like this, broken, and sad, it made different parts of him bleed. “Me too.” He felt that needed to be said because it was loyalty he could not really explain, “I wish I could be everywhere with you.” It didn’t even matter if it sounded like a declaration of love. Only that it be understood.

“You’re crazy, and you used me.” Arthur looked at him, not angry, just confused. “And I couldn’t think of anything else, but how much I wished you’d been there. How do you worm into someone that quickly?”

“I’m sorry, Arthur.” Even if he didn’t know how he could have been there, or where it was. Arthur was hurt, and he should never have allowed it to happen. This was real pain. It wasn’t anger or frustration, it was loss, absolute and uncompromising. Curiosity gnawed at him, the desire to invade and know, he tried to tamper it down.

Arthur reached out blindly, his hand catching Merlins side and Merlin let the contact stay, let Arthur have what he needed. “I should hate you so much.”

“You can.” Even that seemed better than an Arthur like this.

“Even crazy I don’t think I want to. Merlin,” Arthur risked his mood with a laugh, “court jester.”

“Hey!” He cracked his own smile and squeezed the hand that had come up to brace Arthurs questing arm. “I’d make a great court jester.”

Arthur let a guilty snigger escape his sorrow and Merlin felt the fluttering of pleasure at such a victory.

The next question took all the humour with it, “How many Arthurs, have you known?”

“Too many,” Merlin wont lie, “But none of them were you.” Merlin took a steady breath, “None of them were right.”

“And I am? Right?” He met Merlins eyes and Merlin nodded certain. “Okay, fine. What does it matter anyway? It’s just an idea. A dream. A fiction. We all have those.” Arthur lay his head back on the couch, and the arm on Merlins arm pulled him closer. Merlin ignored the ping in his conscious that said he shouldn’t lean against Arthur on the couch, that he didn’t have the right to it. Instead he listened to the other mans heart beat until it slowed and calmed and Arthur was asleep on the couch an arm around Merlins shoulders and the sorrow leeched off him. Merlin knew it would return the next day, as sorrow did, but for a few hours it would not invade Arthurs mind.

 

Later that night, asleep and groggy Merlin woke to Arthurs prodding.

“Bed.” Arthur ordered, looking slightly pained, and Merlin sat up slowly, releasing Arthurs arm so it could get circulation back. He merely nodded after that, and Arthur pulled him up and lead him to the bed. Merlin didn’t change, but Arthur took his jacket and pants off before crawling in under the covers beside Merlin.

It wasn’t sexual and even if Arthur had intended it to be Merlin was too tired to notice. He doesn’t believe it could be though. He had tacit forgiveness, but there was still everything wrong. He started to drift back to sleep, aware that Arthur was watching him and he knew he’d forget it all in the morning, stuck somewhere between dream and sleep and that’s why, when he answers he is honest.

“For who I am, not what you want me to be; Did you even want me a little, Merlin?”

“If not for destiny, I would keep you forever.” Merlin snuggled into his blanket, eyes closed, tucking it in under his chin. “If not for your name, I would never have left that morning.”

It was just as well he didn’t remember it as anything but a vague dream, because Merlin would not have wanted to remember that confession, nor would he be able to deny it once it had been said aloud. As it was he was convinced he’d slept the night through peacefully, even if he had fallen asleep on the couch and his migration to the bed could not be explained. He let that go. Stranger things had happened to him.

 

Arthur was more reasonable the next day, having stolen some of Merlins clothes with no care for propriety and Merlin could only glare as his extra large comfy pyjamas were horded and used without permission, then smirk because the legs of the pants hung down and caught below Arthurs heels wherever he walked.

They ate breakfast companionably, and Arthur tested things carefully, skirted around the main issue and didn’t seem willing to land on it. Merlin let it happen, let the ignorance build because he was not willing to scare Arthur away again. Even if there were things still unsaid, the risk was too great. The only time Arthur came close to broaching the topic was when he pulled up a question that had clearly been bothering him.

“How many people have you told?”

“What?” Merlin looked up from his book, they’d fallen into silence over the kitchen table. The day had moved on some hours, Merlin had work at two (he’d called in sick though) and he was unwilling to kick Arthur out. The surprising thing was that Arthur seemed fine with sitting around his apartment doing nothing all day. Considering the state the man had been in the day before Merlin was unwilling to argue with him.

“This… stuff. How many people have you told?” Arthur cringed at his own words.

“Oh.” Merlin scrambled into the topic readily. “Will, you, oh and Leon.”

“Leon?” Arthur repeated, an arched brown and a slightly insulted look on his face. “He never said you were-“ Arthur looked left, “Well he never said. That’s the kind of thing he’d usually say.”

Merlin shrugged, not sure telling Arthur that Leon believed him would be a wise thing to do. Let Leon deal with that revelation, Merlin had done his part. 

“Can I-“ Arthur appeared uncomfortable and infinitely fragile, “Can I stay here for a few days?”

“Yeah.” Merlin smiled reassuringly, “You can have the bed. I’ll take the lounge.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short update is short. -__-


	15. Fire

Merlin was feeling okay, because Arthur was talking to him (hesitantly and he skirted topics when they threatened to go too close to ‘insane’ but still talking) and Merlin had managed to put away a quarter of the first semesters fees for the next year. If he kept up working like a pack mule he might have enough to make a whole semesters worth of classes and then… well then he had to worry about the other three semesters he had yet to complete.

He wasn't sure how much use having a degree would be in the end, but his mother had looked devastated when he’d suggested not bothering attending, so until Arthur really needed him, needed him every day and every minute to help sort out his problems, until then he would stick with it. Hunith had made sacrifices to get him where he was, and he’d get himself as far as he could until destiny took over. He just… had to earn the money first.

So Merlin was feeling okay, and Arthur had gone home after being the least invasive house guest Merlin had ever met. The casual touches had stopped, and Merlin was both happy and bereft at their absence. But the conversations had been casual and friendly and Merlin was sure things would repair themselves. He’d felt secure and comfortable and hadn’t minded so much when Leon had arrived at the door that morning, all apology, and taken Arthur home.

He’d even felt good enough that when Will showed up to drag him out on the town Merlin had only put up a token protest before he’d changed into slacks, a white shirt, and his mid-length coat (he’d found it in a second hand store and thought it made him look taller).

They’d stopped at their local, Will shouting at the match on the large TV before something shorted out on the TV and the entire crowd evacuated in search of working screens and rugby scores. Neither had known which way to go, or where the next best pub was, and had chosen left (though Merlin had wanted to go right). Will had gotten an idea a few blocks down, veered left and Merlin had been dragged after him.

The club they stopped at had a short cue, it was still early, and Merlin hadn’t liked it. Will had dragged him into the strobing lights with an annoyed huff and Merlin had followed because Will was in a good mood, and Merlin felt a good mood shouldn’t be wasted.

“Stay.” Will ordered when they’d found a corner, and Merlin smiled in amusement as the man darted off to get the drinks.

The club wasn’t full yet, just people mulling about around the edged of the dance floor, hiding in the niches supplied for later in the night when people wanted to escape the throng of bodies. There were private tables, a little higher up, but near the bar, and some of them were empty, others full. Merlin spared them a mild attention then focused on the very short sparkly dresses and skirts that were fashionable this year. He liked the ones that looked like dragon scales, they tickled his fancy in a way that made him worry he’d go out and buy one just so he could look at and pet it. Any time he found someone with something like that on he would have to force himself to look away.

Will returned to him, drinks in hand. Merlins had a piece of pineapple in it, and he glared at it resentfully. “You’ll love it.” Will promised, a hint of a smirk on the side of his mouth.

“Why are we here?” Merlin thought clubs were mostly boring, pubs were much more fun for hanging around in with a large crowd, and since he didn’t want to get drunk he had been hoping to hang around at a pub.

“One of the girls from the other night said she came here all the time.” Will grinned hopefully, and Merlin sagged in resignation.

“What was her name?” Because Merlin knew Will didn’t know it, who the hell could hear anything in the volume of these sort of places? He considered calling Gwaine and inviting him out as well just because Will would abandon him if the girl was favourable, but there was something niggling at him that said it would be bad, and he didn’t like to argue with his instincts. He was, after all, a wizard, instincts had to count for something. Absently he fiddled with his phone.

“Oh, Amber.” Will waved that question away, and Merlin smirked. Baldfaced lies were so easy to spot.

“Or Candy.” Merlin mocked and tried his stupid drink with pineapple (it was delicious and tasted like coconut and Merlin didn’t think it belonged in London at all).

“Or Tiffany.” Will continued, and they shared a grin before Wills eyes got drawn away. “Oh! That’s her.” And he dashed off across the room, nearly ran into the girl, gestured wildly for a few seconds then returned to Merlin red faced.

“Smooth.” Merlin teased.

“Oh shut up. She’s invited me upstairs, called me cute.” Will beamed, “You can come too.”

The bottom of Merlins stomach dropped out. His drink started to slip, he caught it, white knuckles, and felt the world realign.

“No.” Merlin snapped. Will lent back on his heels.

“You sure?” He was all smiles.

“No.” Merlin insisted, and Will shrugged. Merlin caught his arm before he’d escaped. “We should go.”

Will considered. “You okay?” 

“We need to leave.” Merlin insisted, not sure why, but he felt ill, like he had to throw up, and the only place he wanted to do that was outside.

“I need to tell her-“ Will began to shift away, Merlin clung.

“You don’t know her name.” Merlin insisted, and something was prickling at the back of his ears, a warning. Will was still all smiles.

“Two seconds Merlin-“

The alarm sounded before Will had turned back to leave Merlin.

For a moment the music kept pumping, the lights continued to flicker, and the people didn’t respond. But it was early, and no-one was drunk yet (not entirely) and the panic didn’t take very long to break across those already inside.

Merlin gripped hard onto Will pulling him closer to him as the lights shut down. The room disappeared in darkness.

“Don’t move!” Merlin ordered, the emergency bell was loud and Merlin wasn’t sure what was happening, but there was a pressure pushing into him from all around, ready to suffocate him.

“Merlin we have to leave.” Will tugged out of Merlins hold, “Come on!” and although Merlin reached after him he couldn’t find skin or clothes. Someone pushed past him, Merlin grabbed at them, pushed himself to know and let them go because it wasn’t Will.

He thought he’d lost him, lost him in the panic of immediate response until someone else returned, grabbed his elbow. “Lost in your own bathroom, seriously Merlin!” And tugged Merlin to the exit. “You just going to stand there and wait for someone to rescue you?” Will managed to tease while shouting, dragging Merlin step by step across the room. People shoved at them, but Will kept his grip firm and Merlin trusted him implacably to get them to the exit and out.

Someone shouted ‘help’ over the other noise, a high scream of a voice. Merlin tried to twist back, automatic response. Will kept his hold firm.

“Come on Merlin.” Will insisted, calm and controlled.

“They need help.” Merlin insisted, feet planted, straining to locate the sounds source. There was too much noise however, fumbling over each other and messy. Merlin waited, other people where shouting help, someone was screaming about a door, Merlin felt oddly displaced from it all. Only Wills hand on his arm grounded him.

“Who?” Will hissed, the first signs of panic. Merlin couldn’t focus though, something was slithering into the corners of his attention, something soft and creeping and entirely deadly. His nostrils flared with the smell of smoke, and he looked up. His eyes were adjusting. Will was trying to move him. He could see rolls of smoke crawl across the roof above them.

The floor above them was on fire. Merlin heard gasps, heard crying, and turned to the exit. The crowd had bottlenecked, something was wrong. Merlin moved without thinking, heading for that door, he fought against the crowd. Pushing people out of the way, dodging under the press and squeezing through.

“I can, open it.” He insisted, trying to barter through them all. An elbow to his nose from one of the frantic crowd. He flared back on impulse and the people around him edged back for a breath before pushing back in. Logic overwhelming common sense. Merlin swore, blood slithered down across his mouth and he could barely taste it through the ash that dried out his mouth. Ash that wasn’t in the room yet, but would be soon.

“Let me past!” He ordered, and instead of doing it, they froze. Everything froze and Merlin felt the calm of time eternal ease across him. He stilled, breathed, reached out and began to move limbs out of his way. Pushing people out of his way to make a path.

Time pressed down on him, warning of a limit, and he begged it for as long as it could spare until his hands were on the door. Then it all tumbled back into motion, and he was pushed, chest crushing into the stuck door and Merlin didn’t have time to worry about not being able to breath as he stretched his awareness out through the darkness to find the problem.

Something heavy, and hard, and blocking the exist. On the other side of the door. People had inched the door open, but it was only a slither of air that came in and no-one could get out.

An elbow landed in his back. He couldn’t fall, though the pain made his body try, the press of bodies kept him up.

“More.” He demanded of time, trying to reach for it, but it was quite and it did not respond. Merlin reached for anything else that was on hand, and pulled from the force of panic behind him, the power of fear, and determination, and he twisted it together thick in his grip, glowing hard around his hands. No-one noticed, no-one could spare it a thought, because he was taking everything they could offer. Two people collapsed under the strain and Merlin kept dragging. Until he felt his hands burn into the doors bar, and then he pushed.

With muscle and magic he pushed against the stuck door. Metal strained and tore, things scraped, a horrible noise that squealed higher than the choking gasps of those dying on the upper levels. Things got stuck, the gap was too small. People where squeezing through, Merlin took everything they had as they poured out into the darkness beyond. He took their relief and he shoved harder.

Something shifted on the other side and then the door was moving, falling on it’s own. Merlin almost followed it to the ground, the push of people behind him sending him stumbling. He would have been crushed, he knew it, because his limbs were rubber and he couldn’t think, but someone was waiting for him and pulled him tight out of the path of the escaping crowd.

“This ones down!” The voice over Merlins head shouted, and Merlin wanted to shake his head, get his bearings and go back, because a door was open but nothing was right inside. He was handed on, Merlin tried to argue, but instead he found himself shoved down onto the gutter, on his own, and another person was put on the ground near him, unconscious.

Merlin checked absently, and felt the utter exhaustion but nothing else wrong, maybe a cracked rib. This had been someone at the doorway. Merlin apologised silently for the theft of energy, but knew it would rebuild soon enough. He closed his eyes to steady himself and again he heard that voice cry out for help.

Merlin looked back at the club from the curb where he’d been dumped. Ambulances were pulling up, red lights mixing with the blues and yellows already flashing across the surface of the building. The upper four floors were engulfed in flames, burning high and peaking through windows. In a few minutes the building would collapse in on itself. Merlin could see it as well as anyone else could.

Whoever was calling for help, they were on an upper floor. Merlin felt a twinge of sympathy, a fleeting moment of pain over something that he could not stop. Anyone on those top floors were dead, anyone still in there- anyone left behind-

“Will.” Merlin’s pulse doubled over, he was on his feet, stumbled and then moving. “Will!” He shouted over the crowd, hoping for a response, but his voice over the crowd was no more effective than anyone else’s, and he knew where Will was. Not on the top floor burnt and dying, but on the bottom one, waiting to be crushed by four floors of rubble and fire.

Someone caught him before he could dive in through the doors, billowing smoke like an angry dragon. Merlin felt his magic flare, felt words ready to roll off his tongue to order it back. He turned it on the man holding him instead, forced hands to unfold and back away, and he didn’t stop to wonder how he’d done it. Instead he dove in through the door into the smoke and ash and death with nothing but a pulsing heart and desperation leading him on.

He threw his magic out through the smoke. The smoke twisted away and in around each thread of his magic and Merlin hissed at it, ordering it back. There was nowhere for it to go, it tried, pushed into corners and left him pure air to breath through, apologising but unable to change or correct at his command. He hated the windows holding the smoke in; they shattered outwards in a spray of glass.

More people outside screamed, and the fire. The Fire. It breathed in the new oxygen, not apologetic, ravenous and hot and consuming and it took in the new supplies and the bar was on fire. The smoke was clearing. Merlin could see the bar but not Will.

There were fire fighters, six of them and they were struggling to get the door to upstairs open. It too was trapped. But Will hadn’t been upstairs, he’d been on this floor, with Merlin.

Merlin found him, unconscious on the floor. Merlin rolled him over ignoring the shouts of fire fighters as they spotted him. Ignoring the groan of the roof above them, alight with fire and sagging down over them.

He couldn’t understand what was being said through smoke masks and face plates. He didn’t care. He was pulling Will up, struggling under the dead weight of his best friend. Someone tried to pull him away, someone else was trying to grab at Will. Merlin wanted to push them all away so he could get Will out of there but his hands wouldn’t release his friend and he couldn’t seem to move from the ground where he’d bent down to retrieve his friend.

A hand was on the back of his neck, thick gloves, rough and ash worn. A head in his vision between Will and himself and Merlin was ready to spit curses at the man, but he could see through the faceplate and there was sympathy and panic.

“The roof. The roof.” The man was repeating, tugging at Merlin and trying to pull him upwards. “We’ll get him. Let him go.” Merlin could just hear the muffled words but it was something else that pulled his fingers off Wills body and stand. “We have to move. Now.” One of the other fighters was down and picking Will up, fire mans hold, and Merlin was being pulled up.

The roof collapsed before anyone had moved. Merlin responded without thinking. His magic arched out around them, a flash of gold and the building above them slammed down then curved perfectly as the magic held like a giant dome. No-one stopped to question it. They just kept moving.

Merlin lost the world the moment he had stepped out into the night air, in the face of a hundred sirens and flashing lights. And the thunder as the building collapsed in on itself behind them. Anyone still inside gone. And Merlin was only aware that the world was cold and dark and silence swept over him as his body gave out under the strain. He knew Will was gone.


	16. Aftermath

The door was locked. Merlin checked it, but he didn’t need to because he _knew_ it was locked. It told him any time he worried, but he kept going back to check in case it lied. Things could lie. The door was locked though, and the curtains were drawn.

Merlin had never felt more exposed in his life.

Everything was alive, and he didn’t know how to tell it to stop being. He’d tried. He’d tried to shut it all up inside again, where he was sane and secure and even if he’d had magic it was nothing compared to what he had now.

Something had unlocked, something he had never known was there to find, and now every move he made was thick with magic. He hadn’t moved the first day, he’d sat on the chair staring at the TV, the screen broken where he’d thrown the remote, and everything had come to him. When he’d thought maybe he should drink there was water there, when he’d broken down into uncontrollable tears there’d been tissues at his elbow. He hadn’t even known it was happening. But when the first wave of guilty anger had struck he’d lashed out, and everything in his kitchen had shattered, shards of glass falling like rain from the cabinets.

Then he’d started to feel bad, started to try and take it back and things had begun to knit themselves back together, half broken glasses becoming whole. Merlin had escaped to his bed, curled into the smallest ball he could and pulled the blanket up over his head trying to will sleep onto himself. Sleep came, for an hour or two, and then he’d been left to face the flat again, and the fact that he’d failed. For all his magic, for all his power Will had been dead before Merlin had even gone back for him. Cold. Dead. Choked on smoke and ash just like all those people upstairs. The lucky ones who hadn’t burnt.

Merlin’s magic rolled, one of the windows cracked, a hard crystalline sound that reminded Merlin of the club, the light next to him exploded, sending sparks out onto the material cover. Merlin smelt smoke, flinched, and then watched the thin wires of smoke on the lampshade rise into the dark room, slithering up. He stared, fixated, uncomprehending, and then the niggle of logic caught him up, and he had to move it, put it out before he burnt his apartment down as well.

The lamp disappeared before he could reach out for it, the thought only half formed. In the bathroom he heard the clunk of the thing landing in the bathtub, the hiss of water following, and Merlin dropped his hand back to his side, unmoved.

He had the despairing thought, one of many thousands, that if his magic knew what he wanted so much then why hadn’t it saved Will. It seemed it could have. It seemed it could do things he had never even considered before. And it was all useless, completely useless if it couldn’t save the one person in the mess of it all that he’d wanted to save. Just to open a stupid door, a door some careless asshole had parked in front of.

Merlin lashed again, uncontrolled, unthinking, he hadn’t been holding anything, but the world twisted to his orders and whatever left his hand shattered against the wall to rain more glass across the room. It broke the plaster of the wall, and Merlin felt no better for the destruction, but wanted to try it again in case it helped.

When someone finally knocked on his door Merlin hissed at them, sliding words out that he didn’t understand, and instead of going away the knocking became harder. Merlin contemplated his wall, his destruction, the tiniest representation of the world he’d just lost, and opened the door.

The man was a stranger, Merlin was sure of it, but his magic was _awake_ and it was stronger than it had ever been, so he knew the man wasn’t really a stranger.

“What?” Merlin demanded, expression twisted and grip fixed on the door to slam it shut again.

“You don’t remember me.” The _knight_ replied with a sad smile that rang empathetic to Merlins insides. “That’s okay.” The man held out his hand, Merlin clung to the door frame and glared at the appendage. “I’m Lancelot.”

“Of course you are.” Merlin went to shut the door. Now as not the time. Maybe never would be the time. And Lancelot was so much worse than any of the other knights and Merlin did not want to think about it. Will hadn’t even believed in any of it. Maybe he’d be alive now if Merlin had never said anything, though that made no sense.

Before the door was closed _Lancelot_ said one more thing, and the door never did close. “I pulled you from the fire.”

 

Lancelot, _Lance_ , had tracked him down. Merlin hadn’t waited to be asked questions, hadn’t cared even if he’d wanted to answer them. When all was said and done he’d regained consciousness, stood up, and walked out of the melee of action. No-one had seen him go. Maybe that had been magic as well. But whatever his magic had done it hadn’t hidden Will’s details from anybody.

“I looked your friend up. He didn’t have any living relatives.”

“Yeah. His dad died a couple years ago.” Merlin didn’t even feel his usually conflicting emotions on that topic. Wills father had been a good man, most of the time and Will had loved him, it’s just sometimes Wills father had hit a little too hard when he was angry. Merlin had wanted the man to die for years, when he finally had Merlin had been faced with the reality of a friend who’d lost their father. He supposed now he could think whatever he wanted on the subject, Will was hardly going to complain now.

“He got arrested two years ago-“

“That was a misunderstanding.” Merlin protested.

“-and you were his emergency contact.”

“Oh.” Merlin felt all his defence sag back against the couch with his body. He knew he hadn’t invited the man into the house so much as walked away from him and left the door open. Lance had followed him in and locked the door behind him (the lock felt obligated to tell Merlin).

Lance looked earnest, “I was going to ask you, if it wasn’t you, about Williams friends.”

“Will.” Merlin corrected. “His dad called him William.”

“I know this isn’t something you want to hear, but they’ll need to talk to you, about funeral arrangements.”

“Shut up.” Merlin lashed out, his hand reached out to stall, and instead his magic took the initiative pushing Lancelot across the room and into the wall. A heavy thud, a crack noise. Merlin panicked and undid it as quickly as he could. Lancelot didn’t even stumble, his feet touched the ground and he smiled. Merlin took a step back, hit the lounge and skirted it towards the kitchen.

“Hey, hey.” Lancelot had his hands down, low, placating. Merlin shook his head and ducked away from the stranger. Away from danger. Lancelot did not follow immediately and Merlin spent his escape calming down a raging heart beat and telling himself that it didn’t matter and it couldn’t matter, because Lancelot and his co-workers had already seen worse. He’d never attacked someone before though, his magic had never done anything so dangerous. Merlin dreaded to consider if Lancelot had been standing in front of the window. And then Merlin would have killed him, a knight, someone he was supposed to want to protect – except Lancelot wasn’t supposed to be here. He’d told Will enough times… right yeah Will.

Merlins thoughts came to a halt, circling the one problem that out road all others. He’d let his friend die. He’d abandoned his friend.

“Hey.” Lancelot was in the door way, careful and unobtrusive, the doorway still mostly unblocked. An exit available. Merlin didn’t take it, he just lent on the bench, little pieces of glass skittering away from his hands before he could cut himself. He flicked his fingers out at them in irritation and thy scattered like blown leafs. “You’re names Merlin right?”

“And you’re Lancelot.” Merlin replied with vindictive glee.

“Know any Arthurs?” Lancelot, credit to the man, teased. As if Merlin wasn’t attacking and angry and more dangerous than any man should be.

“And a Gwaine, a Leon, a Percival-“ Merlin shook his head. This was insane, he was insane, and he’d finally tumbled all the way into that insanity, lost in the thrall of delusion.

“I take it I should know those names.” Lancelot stepped into the room, sliding his shoes along the linoleum to avoid stepping on the glass. Merlin glared at the glass, felt an unreaction from them and then waved his hand, a flash of magic and he ordered them back together. There was nothing to hide here, not anymore. And Lancelot watched each glass mend itself, the cracks smoothing out and fusing together, leaving no sign of their trauma. “You’re actually him, aren’t you?” There was awe, not doubt or disbelief in Lancelot’s voice.

“I, I think so.” Merlin didn’t want it to be real, because if that one thing wasn’t real (even if he had believed it for so many years), then maybe what had happened to Will wouldn’t be real as well. It was a comforting thought, and then it was crushing because Merlin couldn’t ignore a reality for long. “Yes.” He admitted as the cups stacked themselves back in the cupboard where they belonged.

“And I’m?”

“Oh, you’re him.” Merlin assured wondering if this was going to be another Arthur. But he supposed Lancelot had more reason to believe him and didn’t seem too scared by it. “Jesus. This- I don’t even care.” Merlin shook his head, pushed from the bench and stared back at this concerned man. “Come back next month, next year… some other time. I can’t deal with this.” Merlin gestured out, no magic went with it, but it sizzled under the surface, waiting for the slightest command. Even just the slightest hint of a command.

“You saved my life.” Lancelot did not move from his spot. “If I’m any guess, you saved a lot of lives.”

Merlin smiled with a twist of hatred. “Yeah? Doesn’t matter does it?” He spat the words out like the venom they were. He knew he should be glad so many people had gotten out alive. He knew he should care. But he didn’t care about them, they’d been nobody, no-one he’d known or cherished or loved. Will had been family, he had been history and trust and now he was dead and Merlin couldn’t even think his name without the tremble kicking in.

“It does.” Lancelot stepped closer again, stepped into Merlins space and before Merlin even knew what was happening he was in the middle of a one sided hug. Merlin’s arms hung limply at his side. “It matters to each and every one of them. It matters to me.” Lancelot didn’t strangle in his hold, but he did not desist, and Merlin wished he would. “You pushed a fire door out of a wall, and the car holding it closed out of the way.” Lancelot persisted. Merlin wanted him to stop, but couldn’t get his arms to reach up and push the man away, afraid of his magic and what it could do, afraid he would cling to this stranger and cry when all he wanted to do was hate the world. “We couldn’t get in Merlin. We couldn’t get in.” He chanted, gently, soothingly, worshipfully. “It would have taken us another three minutes, winches and chains. Do you know how important every second is in a fire?” The arms tightened and Merlin found he’d managed to move his own hands, raised them to catch on the bottom of Lances jacket. “sixty three people came through that door Merlin. Sixty three people who would have died-“

“Like Will.” Merlin wasn’t asking, not really.

“Like Will.” Lancelot agreed, and Merlin collapsed into the man, trusting that he wouldn’t let him fall, not now or ever. Because this man, for all that Merlin had never expected him, was sturdy and honest and he felt like pure trust and faith and Merlin needed it so very much that he didn’t care that it was _Lancelot_ who was said to have betrayed Arthur. Nothing mattered except the support Merlin needed and that was here, now, in Lancelot.

“Thirty seven people died.” Merlin needed to say it. He’d seen the number on the TV. Not a final tally, they wouldn’t give that until they were sure. But thirty seven bodies removed from the rubble and carted away.

“Yeah. And we all have to live with that Merlin. But not on our own.”

Merlin wasn’t sure when it had started, but he was crying, and his arms were wrapped right back around Lancelot, and somehow they where on the floor. Merlin realised he must have fallen, must have been lowered by the other man, but he couldn’t feel anything but that hot burn of ash and death as is pressed on him and stole life after life out from under his nose.

A scream built in him, desperate, and he shoved it down, down with his magic trying not to let it all loose. But it broke free, like anything stronger than its cage it crashed out in a wave, and Merlin cried for the loss of a friend that could not be replaced, not by destiny, or love, or anything. Because nothing was replaceable, and Will was forever going to be a missing piece in his heart no matter how time might mend it.

 

Arthur arrived the next day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to comment. I likes the comments. :)


	17. Doorway

Lancelot had been sitting on the couch flicking through news updates on his smartphone when someone began pounding on the door. Lancelot moved without thinking, jumping up and heading for the door – determined to stop the noise before it got louder.

“Merlin!” Was shouted through the flimsy wood and Lancelot reached for the lock without a thought. It sparked his fingers and he jerked his hand back.

“I need to open the door.” Lancelot told the lock, but it had no affect, it remained as much a piece of useless metal as it would always be to Lancelot. Something shifted, and it clicked, and Lancelot cringed, because Merlin was awake again. “You need to be quite.” Lancelot stated as pleasantly as he could while he opened the door.

He was nearly knocked in the head for his efforts to get outside, but the man on the other side stopped his attack on the door and did a double take.

“Who are you?” The newcomer demanded, and Lancelot considered the frantic look in the other mans eyes, and the silence from behind him. Merlin was awake, but he wasn’t up for visitors. Lancelot stepped through the door, forcing the other man to step back. He shut the door behind him.

“I’m Lance. And you are?” He held his hand out and it was looked at like it was poison. Lancelot didn’t take offence, clearly this man was on the defensive.

“What are you doing in Merlins apartment?” He was rather brisk, and there were bags under his eyes, and Lancelot could see his shirt hadn’t been done up properly.

“You could use a cup of tea.” Lancelot wanted to remove them from the apartment, but the attempt made the man stiffen up and there was no chance of him going anywhere once that had happened. Lancelot took another approach. “Your friend, he’s sleeping.” Apparently that was also a dangerous line because there were daggers being glared at him. “Have you been watching the news?” Lancelot could tell the answer was yes. This man had, however, only just found out. But the names of the victims had only been made public an hour ago (Lancelot had been keeping track of it on the news sites).

“I am… I need to talk to him.” A hand raked through messy hair, and it spiked all over the place.

“I don’t know who you are-“ Lancelot began carefully, “but he hasn’t slept in over two days. He is in bed. I will not let you, or anyone else interrupt the first sleep he’s had since he dragged his dead friend out of a burning building.”

That stopped Arthur cold, the hand that had been about to do another pass through hair froze in mid-air and Lancelot saw comprehension and horror take over. He thought the man was about to shout again, demand entrance, but instead his attention turned back to Lancelot. Hard and testing.

“Who are you?” He demanded once more.

“If you would tell me your name?” Lancelot didn’t budge, he had a suspicion but until it was confirmed he would assume nothing.

“Arthur.” The man stood at perfect attention, and Lance nodded. At least Merlins Arthur cared.

“Then, Arthur,” Lancelot offered the kind of smile you use before saying something sad, he knew he had perfected it in his line. He wasn’t supposed to do it, but he was the one to break the news when someone couldn’t be revived. It wasn’t often, but it was often enough that he had gained a skill for it. “I was a fire-fighter on scene. I came to check Merlin was okay.”

“His name wasn’t mentioned anywhere.” Arthur sounded defensive, but he was also talking quitter, aware of the need for sleep at least.

“He didn’t want to be mentioned.” That was close enough to the truth.

Arthur shifted, trying to see over Lancelot’s shoulder and into the building, perfect attention ruined. “Is he okay?”

“No.” Lancelot felt the ache of bruises on his back, and the look in haunted eyes. “Did you think he would be?”

“No.” Arthur shook his head. “But I… I didn’t think. I only heard, just now. My stupid family-“ he cut himself off. “I didn’t know Will was there until today.” He shook his head, angry at himself. “I’ve been watching the reports, reading them all, and I didn’t know that Merlin was here. Alone.” Again he shook his head before looking to Lancelot imploringly. “Can I check on him? Please? I wont wake him.”

Lancelot considered. Merlin was awake. Merlin wouldn’t have slept through that noise, and he’d already seen the proof of the magic that responded to the man. But he hadn’t gotten up, and he hadn’t opened the door himself. “I’ll check.”

Surprisingly Arthur didn’t try and force his way into the room (he looked just about upset enough to try) and Lancelot respected him just a little bit more for that.

He found Merlin in the bed, curled into a ball with the blanket over his head.

“Is he gone?” Merlin’s voice was soft, resigned.

“He wants to come in.” Lancelot let that sink it. “Do you want him to?”

Under the blankets Merlin shook his head, the movement was barely visible under the thick doona.

“I’ll tell him to leave?” He had to be sure.

“Please.” Merlin’s voice cracked. “I just- not yet.”

“Take all the time you need Merlin.” Lancelot, closed the door to bedroom before returning to the landing outside the apartment where Arthur was waiting, leaning against the banister with closed eyes and folded arms. Preparing himself. Lancelot ignored the feeling of guilt (he knew this would upset the other man) and reminded himself that Merlin was the party that needed to be cared for, so Merlins demands would be respected. “He wants to be left alone.”

“I’m not leaving until I know he’s okay.” Arthur snapped back.

“Then don’t leave.” Lancelot agreed, “But you can’t go in.”

“But you can?” His stance was ready for a fight, Lancelot met it with placid calm. Arthur deflated, marginally, “Why are you allowed in?”

“Because he doesn’t know me and I was there.” Lancelot guessed, because he wasn’t sure, but he was glad he was allowed in there. Alone Merlin would survive, but it made no sense to make him do this alone. There was no need for it. “I’m safe.”

Arthur didn’t like it. It was obvious and Lancelot couldn’t fault him, but Lancelot still left him out on the stairwell landing and checked on Merlin. Merlin pretended to be asleep, and with nothing else to do Lancelot sat on the floor of the bedroom and checked his phone and began to tap out an email to his work. He wasn’t leaving this flat until he wasn’t needed there anymore. The way that the room responded, shook and a wall cracked when Merlin jerked upright an hour later, awake and drenched in sweat, Lancelot didn’t think he was going anywhere soon.

 

Arthur sat on the doorstep for three days. Lancelot ordered an extra pizza when he ordered it, and would have worried about the mans other meals, but he had an entourage who took up residence in the stair well (the people on the upper floors had been unimpressed but hadn’t said anything when faced with the reality of four large men who weren’t willing to move). The entourage made sure there was food and water, and Lancelot thought maybe one of the other neighbours had been prevailed on for the use of the bathroom.

Even though Lancelot knew Arthur had all these things there was something disconcerting about looking out the peep hole to see the man waiting every time, determined and unyielding.

Lancelot didn’t have much time to check on the man though, because peaceful sleep didn’t seem to be on Merlins agenda, and along with melting the kettle (while he was carrying it across the kitchen), flooding the bathroom, knocking them both out (a particularly bad bought which had made Lancelot thankful they’d both been out long enough for Merlins body to calm down), and turning the a pair of shoes (they had been Wills, Lancelot was led to believe) into a set of birds, he’d been dealing with trauma.

Lancelot did his best to deal with the magic (because it was magic, unquestionably) and he was fairly certain Merlin wasn’t going to hurt him with it (though accidents could happen and Lancelot accepted that they might do just that). But dealing with the man himself was the larger challenge. He wasn’t trained for grief consoling, and thought the men outside would do better as friends, but Lancelot could understand why Merlin didn’t want them in here. Something Merlin had said on that first day implied that Arthur didn’t know about the magic, and if that man (who was clearly the leader in wanting to comfort Merlin) didn’t know about it, Lancelot wasn’t sure if anyone at all knew about it. Maybe Will had known, he wasn’t going to ask. 

Currently Merlin was curled up on the floor, covered in a jacket (it swamped him) and tracing patterns in the carpeted floor. Lance watched the fingers trick through the patterns in a manner that seemed entirely too organised and he waited for the outcome. A little part of him said that spells were being cast, and Merlin had no idea that it was happening.

“Do you know her?” Merlin asked abruptly. Lancelot looked from the fingers still jittering out their pattern, to the back of Merlins head (barely visible above the neck of the coat).

“Who are we talking about?”

“Guinevere. Do you know her?” Merlin twisted, turned around and two golden eyes stared up and Lancelot.

Lancelot didn’t know much about legends, he liked to focus on the here and now, but even he knew that much. Inescapable considering his name. He had heard almost any joke about adultery that had ever been written and a few it was best to pretend had never been said. Often he went by Lance just to escape the jokes.

“No, Merlin. I don’t know her.” He reassured and Merlin rolled back away, his hand laying flat across the spell he’d etched into carpet fibbers.

“If you… if you meet her-“

“Merlin,” Lance interrupted calmly, “we will face that difficulty when it comes our way.”

“Maybe then it’ll be too late.” Merlin grumbled, his hand clenching into a fist over his ‘magic’ spot and Lance tensed, not because of the conversation, but because the next time Merlin opened that hand, he suspected, something big would happen. “You’re not even supposed to be real.” Merlin accused, and Lancelot lent forwards from his spot on the couch.

“I’m not?” He was sure Lancelot had been in every single adaptation of the mythology he’d ever seen. Even that horrible musical his friends had unearthed.

Merlin scoffed. “What if none of this is real? None of us are reincarnations, and it’s just some weird throwback of my magic? It’s made you all happen.” Merlin laughed and he was crying, Lancelot could hear it in shuddering breaths. Nothing else gave it away.

“I’m older than you.” Lancelot tried to be rational. “And I’m real.”

“You shouldn’t be.” Merlin groused, but instead of explaining or dragging it out he stood up and headed for the kitchen, his hand still wrapped tight around cultivated magic. Lancelot let him go unsure if he should follow or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been moving house, so I'm a bit behind on the writing and the editing. I apologise.


	18. Landing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah. Sorry for the delay.

Arthur wrenched the phone from his pocket, checked the number and just as decisively rejected the call. It was a move he was becoming too familiar with, and thought it would be nice to adopt in all his future interactions with his family.

“You’re not going to answer them?” Leon checked even as his own phone began to ring. Surreptitiously Leon blocked the call as well. Arthur knew the reason, it wasn’t discourtesy, but if Leon didn’t get contradictory orders he didn’t have to obey them. It was the safest move that the man could make since Arthur was sure Leon would not obey the orders if he got them today. His men were, in the end, his. Not Uthers, and not even the armies.

“If it’s Morgana, I’ll answer it.” Arthur assured, because until they got her to make the call (or she felt it had to be made) he was safe and no-one was looking that hard for him.

Leon wiggled his eyebrows at this. “So will I.”

Apparently Leon and Morgana were a possibility. Arthur blocked that thought instantly.

“The Morgana? I’d answer that too.” And apparently Gwaine was here having snuck up behind Leon. Leon barely flinched at the surprise, but he did flinch, and Arthur grinned.

“You know, you should use those ninja skills of yours for something useful.” He mused.

“Who says I don’t?” Gwaine pushed past Leon and took a seat on the landing opposite Arthur (apparently unconcerned that if Arthur kicked him he’d be tumbled backwards down the stairs. “Now, he’s not letting us in?” Gwaine didn’t look away from Arthur, eyes forced away from the door that Arthur couldn’t seem to stop focusing on.

“You could try.” Arthur wanted Gwaine to try, so that it’s not just him. There’s only so many times Lance (and that had _better_ be his full name) could tell him he couldn’t come in in a day. He kind of wants Gwaine to get in, he hasn’t been able to have a trace run on Lance without giving away where he is so he doesn’t know anything about the man except his occupation.

His phone rung again, and he sent it to voicemail without a beat. He was not dealing with his family right now. He knows, _knows_ , that he has to go back eventually, but right now he can’t. Merlin is _alone_ , his mother is remarried and out of the country, and ‘Lance’ (who Arthur hadn’t known about when he came over in his initial realisation) was a stranger. Arthur ignored the little voice reminding him that they had only known each other a few weeks as well.

Gwaine pushed up and knocked on the door with a casual swagger. When no reply came, two seconds were given to check, he folded back onto his spot and began to fidget.

“Doesn’t want to talk to us.” He beamed, it was entirely forced. “We should leave him to it.” Which Arthur responded too with a glare. Gwaine cut his attention away, smile slipping. “When’s Wills funeral? They don’t leave these things for long, usually.”

“No.” Arthur agreed. “Lances friends are arranging it because they couldn’t find anyone, and Merlin wasn’t up for it.” Arthur wasn’t sure why the firemen were actually doing it, except out of friendship for Lance. And even then he wasn’t sure why Lance was pulling in favours from his friends for Merlin, whom he’d just met, and had almost sort of moved in with for grief counselling. It was something Arthur needed to examine more closely, but couldn’t focus on at all right now. “But,” he continued, “it all depends on when they release the bodies.”

“They haven’t yet?” It wasn’t public knowledge that anything was suspect, and it wasn’t normal, so Gwaines surprise was as predictable as Leons snap to complete attention. No point, Arthur decided, in keeping it from the man now.

“The preliminary reports on the fire suggest arson.”

“What?” Leon demanded, and it was clear he disliked having had that knowledge kept from him.

“All the fire escapes were blocked from the outside. And not a single person on the upper floors got out.” Arthur managed to say it without inflection, but if he were any other person, at any other part of his life, he would have felt justified in responding.

“So they think the upper floor escapes were sealed as well?” Gwaine double checked.

Arthur didn’t answer the question, it was obvious to all of them. “So, they’re looking at everything very carefully. That means the bodies aren’t being released until their sure they don’t need them.”

“That’s gotta be pissing off your family.” Gwaine observed thoughtfully.

“No shit.” Arthur snapped back, and his phone was ringing again.

“Thank god Merlin wasn’t there.” Gwaine added with more sincerity.

Arthur didn’t ask why it was a good thing, he knew. He’d been thinking it for a while now, because the police should have been asking Merlin questions, national security probably should have been asking him questions. And they weren’t, which meant they didn’t know he’d been in the building. Which meant he’d come home, without seeing a doctor, or anyone. Arthur would be more worried about that if Lance hadn’t seemed like a sensible man in the few conversations they’d had.

But how Merlin snuck out of that mess of police and rescue workers… Arthur wasn’t sure what to think of that.

Something exploded in the apartment, sudden, loud and it was followed by the groan of straining metal. All three of them, Arthur, Leon and Gwaine were on their feet in an instant. Arthur was at the door the fastest. Merlin was shouting something, loud but unclear, Arthur’s fist struck the door. Hard.

“Lance?” He shouted, “Merlin?” He rattled the door with a harder thump, and immediately three more explosions sounded. Two quick pops and one that rumbled below their feet and made the building shake. Jesus. Arthur checked his men and they nodded without hesitation. That decided he squared himself and kicked the door, just near the lock, the only bit that needed to move.

Inside was more shouting, and Arthur landed a second kick, the door fractured, it was cheap and flimsy and he would have it open in the next kick. Instead the door was flung open and Lance was standing there, looking rattled and white but in perfect health.

Arthur went to push into the apartment when Merlin interrupted his plans, “Get rid of them!” Arthur hesitated, the voice was shrill, desperate and entirely Merlin. But it wasn’t a voice in pain, not physical pain. Arthur stopped himself from barrelling into the apartment regardless and from the looks of it Lance had been prepared to deal with him if he tried.

“What was that?” Arthur demanded.

“He… he put something in the microwave for too long.” Lance did what any terrible liar did and looked away for a moment. Arthur felt his gut clench in anger and decided to circumvent the lying nuisance.

“Merlin.” He called down the corridor, silence was his reply, “Merlin, I’m a hairsbreadth from knocking ‘Lance’ out and checking on you myself.” He took a steadying breath, “Either I see you, or you see Gwaine or Leon. Are we clear?”

Lance waited, and so did Arthur. From the looks of it Lance was ready to try and fight him off if he stormed into the apartment, but Arthur knew his chances, especially with Leon and Gwaine behind him. Being a fire-fighter might make you fit, but Arthur had done training Lance couldn’t imagine. He admired the mans resolve though, for all it was useless.

“Merlin” He warned.

Merlin came out a second later, wrapped tight in a big black jacket that Arthur had never seen before. It hung down below Merlins wrists and made him look incredibly small (especially when you considered that although slight Merlin was not a small man). Arthur squished the question about where the jacket had come from and assessed the rest of the man.

Merlin looked terrible. He had bags under his eyes, the rest of the eyes were a light pink of bloodshot, and puffy. He had every indication of a person who had been crying long and hard and Arthur felt uncomfortable knowing that Merlin had been doing just that. He went to look away, but caught himself in the retreat and assessed the rest of the man.

Thinner, as if Merlin had any weight to loose. Thinner and… hotter. But not in a sexual way. Merlin looked like he was running ten degrees too hot, like he was radiating some sort of energy and Arthur didn’t know how to describe it, just that he could see it.

“You look like shit.” He found himself saying without any thought to censor it. Something flashed gold in Merlins eyes. A pure gold that burnt just as his body did, and the colour did not immediately fade as it had every other time. Those eyes were alien… and stunning. Arthur wanted to move towards him, stare at them closer. He’d seen that gold in flashes, moments, but he’d never seen them stick that colour and it was the first time he’d gotten a good look at it. He hadn’t known eyes could do that and he wanted to study them, intensely and avidly, for as long as he could.

“Shut the door, Lancelot.” Merlin hissed. Arthur searched beyond the gold, took in the ridge of the brow, the tilt of the mouth and the corner of Merlins eyes and he knew it wasn’t anger he was facing off, it was something like confusion and the words were those of a desperate man.

Arthur went to move, to protest and the door slammed in his face. _Lancelot_ , Arthur was positive, had not moved. The man had stood there looking slightly awkward and apologetic and Arthur was going to get Merlin to explain all this eventually… once Merlin let him into the bloody apartment so he could check him over properly.

“That went well.” Gwaine jibbed. Arthur turned to let his frustrations out on the man with an attack, but he stopped short. Gwaine looked haunted and although he was smiling and his tone was light, there was something darker behind his expression, and Arthur had seen it before. He’d seen it on other men sent home with a psych evaluation that said ‘not fit for service’ and most of them hadn’t watched the rest of their units die.

“Yeah.” Arthur agreed, and Gwaine looked away sharply. “At least we know he’s okay.”

“So,” Gwaine perked up, “beer?”

There was a ghost in Gwaines eyes so although Arthur shook his head no. He made sure Percival went with him.

 

On the next day Arthur had to leave. He had knocked on the door until Lancelot (fucken _Lancelot_ ) had opened it. Then he had explained, not too loudly in case Merlin was asleep.

“We have to go to court. There’s deliberation today. If I don’t show up…” He shrugged, there were a lot of things that would happen if he did not show up. Not the least of which would be the end of his military career. “If he so much as suggests he’s up for company text me. Don’t call, text.” And Arthur handed over his card. _Lancelot_ (he was not getting over that anytime soon) probably paid enough attention to the media to know who he was anyway. Only Merlin seemed to be completely oblivious, and Arthur was appreciating that for as long as it lasted.

“The second he can you’ll be the first person to know.”

“No. You will.” Arthur couldn’t help being bitter about that.

“You’ll be the first person he’ll want to see.” Lancelot corrected smoothly, and he slipped the contact details into his pocket and watched Arthur leave.

Lance shut the door, and had to lock it for the first time. He took it as a good sign and went back to the lounge room to finish his report for the station. He’d already filled out a pile of notes and fortunately spoke to the police on the day after the incident – before he found Merlin. He was glad he hadn’t had to avoid police just to stay with Merlin, that would have seemed suspicious.

Merlin stepped out of the shower, hair washed and looking flushed but not as eerie as he had at some times.

“Sorry.” Merlin smiles sheepishly, and Lance accepted the apology with a nod. “Did…” Here Merlin looked a little uncertain, “… did I get you?”

Lancelot opened his hands showing them to Merlin. They were free of any injury. “Not a scratch.”

Merlin squinted at him. “Liar.” He warned and Lancelot agreed quickly because he’d been caught.

“Okay, I think I caught a splitter behind my elbow. I can’t check it properly.” Lancelot shrugged to dismiss the injury, it was a nuisance but it as not overly painful.

“I’ll check it for you?” Merlin stepped forwards and Lance shrugged rolling the sleeve of his shirt up to show the minor wound. Merlin didn’t pull a light over, he twiddled his fingers and a little one ball of light lit up beside Lances arm. It didn’t even feel warm.

“You’re getting good at that.” Lance observed, and Merlin glanced at it surprised by its presence.

“Too good.” He admitted, but didn’t do anything about it. In the end he got a pair of tweezers and pulled the little piece of metal out. “I hope that didn’t try and move when I put it all back together.” It was a tiny slither, but if it had tried to wiggle out of his arm when the room was righting himself… Lancelot could imagine that would hurt quite a bit and was suddenly glad that it hadn’t left his arm at all.

“Didn’t even try.” Lancelot replied placating.

“Good.” Merlin nodded, and his eyes flashed, a hiss of words and Lancelot wasn’t sure what happened, but his arm didn’t even have that little pain anymore.

“Did you just-” He twisted his arm, but couldn’t see the wound anymore now than he could before. “Did you just heal my arm?”

Merlin tucked his hands behind his back with a flash of a smile. “Think so.” He agreed, and grinned like a loon.

“Did you just say a spell?” Lancelot furthered, wondering if Merlin even knew he’d been speaking.

“Yeah.” Merlins voice went thoughtful, “I just… knew it?” He shook his head. “It’s settling down,” he admitted, “and I seem to know stuff I didn’t know before – or… I didn’t realise I knew before?” He was uncertain of that and it showed. But there was a spark in his eyes, and a control in his movements that had been missing. Lancelot thought maybe this Merlin was a very nice person, maybe this Merlin would manage to survive loosing his best friend. The sadness was still there, a week was hardly enough time to squash that down, but for a moment the sadness wasn’t ruling. It would run away soon enough, but Lancelot had hope that these moments would come back more and more frequently as time passed on.

Though one day at a time. Lancelot smiled at the man. “Want me to call Arthur?” He was glad to see Merlin nod enthusiastically.

“But,” he warned, “if I start to light up like a Christmas Tree I’m out of there.”

Lancelot grinned. “I think that’s a fair compromise.” He flicked out Arthurs card and texted the number. “They might be a while.”

Merlin paused, his eyes shifting to the left (towards the landing outside the door) and flashed. “Where are they?” He questioned, not hurt, but curious.

“Something about deliberation at a court?” Lancelot hoped it means something to Merlin, because he was a bit at a loss.

“Oh.” Merlin looked more alert. “That’s today?” He looked to the card Lancelot was holding and the phone. “But you texted them?”

“They’ll be here as soon as they can. I’m sure of it.” Lancelot settled down on the couch, Merlin next to him, and they settled in to watch a horrible movie that Lance had found tucked into the bookshelf. ‘One of Wills.’ Merlin had admitted, and they’d put it on simply to avoid that topic for a few more hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the tenses were awkward in a few places. I wrote this for Nanowrimo and I was writing it any way I could to get the next line out (which meant the tenses would change) but apparently I'm not very good at making them consistent after the fact. Oh well.
> 
> Please review / comment. :)


	19. Verdict

When Lancelot admitted he had to go out Merlin nearly panicked all over again. He was quite happily, undeniably, using the man as a crutch and he was not ready to walk on his own again yet.

“But Arthur will be here in a few minutes.” Lancelot had assured and shown the text to Merlin.

‘Be there in twenty-two minutes.’

“And I need to make an appearance at work, before they send out a search party.” Lance wrapped his scarf tight, picked up his duffle bag (one of his work colleges had dropped it off after the first night) and paused, watching Merlin. “He’ll be right here.” He assured and Merlin smiled, a little less comfortable than before, but it was genuine enough.

“I’m worried I’ll slip up.” Merlin admitted.

“Would that be so bad?” Lancelot could understand hiding things, but if this Arthur was ‘Arthur’ he wasn’t sure what the point of hiding Merlins magic from him would be.

“He nearly left, Lance, when I told him he was King Arthur and all of that. He did leave. And I’m not going to risk that again.” Determination set in his face and Lancelot didn't think it was the best decision but didn’t think he could sway the man one way or another.

“Then that is how it is.” Lancelot affirmed with a nod and set out for the door. It unlocked and let him out, and when Lancelot checked over his shoulder Merlin had followed him into the hallway, but was staring blankly at a space between Lancelot’s shoulders. He looked troubled but stable. Lancelot reassured himself that Arthur was going to be there soon and turned and made his way into the big wide world.

 

Merlin felt Arthur arrive in the building, and felt every step the man made up to the fourth floor where Merlin waited. He tampered down every piece of magic that wanted to flare up, recognition in it as much as in Merlins mind. Even though he did all this, by the time Arthur arrived the curtains were thrown back, the windows open to let in a fresh warm breeze (it was winter for gods sake!) and all the lights seemed a little bit warmer. Not brighter, but more natural. Also some things had put themselves away. Spitefully Merlin knocked over a stack of books on the lounge room table before going to open the door.

He lent against it and waited for the knock, then counted to ten before unlatching the thing. It had also fixed itself after Arthur had tried to kick it in (that had been a ball Merlin would rather forget). Arthur was on the other side, looking puffed from running up the stairs but completely perfectly fine aside from that. He was also grinning.

“Went well, did it?” Merlin was grinning in reply already.

“Not guilty, on all counts.” Arthur nearly sparkled with pleasure, “Trumped up charges the lot of them.” Then without further ado he reached out to Merlin and large hands settled on shoulders. A safe spot. Merlin relaxed into the touch, eyes slipping shut and he heard Arthur let out a shuddering breath of relief. “Okay.” Arthur steadied himself and the hands pulled back, reluctantly. Merlin felt disappointed, but he forced himself to open his eyes and face Arthur again. Still smiling, but he had calmed.

“So, where are the celebrations?” Merlin checked, energetic and wanting to leave the apartment. A week indoors made him jittery at the best of times.

Surprised Arthur’s smile cracked into a grin. “Nice place. I’ve got a car,” he looked Merlin over, “and you’re dressed well enough.”

“Your not in uniform.” Merlin observed as he stepped back into his apartment to grab his keys, wallet, and jacket.

“Surprisingly, I don’t like being stared at.” Arthur mused, “Everyone else changed as well.” Because actually four of them lived in the same flat. Bachelor soldiers – Arthur was glad he lived on his own though, it made things feel more distinct from life when he was on tour. Also he didn’t have to worry about the mess they made. Some soldiers came back from war and in rebellion made the largest mess they could. It was unpleasant to see.

“Shame, I wanted to see you in your uniform.” Merlin replied as he fumbled one arm into a much more reasonably sized jacket. Arthur did not ask about the other jacket, but the question would come up eventually. He didn’t like mysteries and although there were things about Merlin he intentionally ignored (being crazy, golden eyes, and things happening when they shouldn’t) this one seemed more overtly personal and therefore more important to understand.

“Just turn on the TV tonight.” Arthur assured, because… well that was going to happen sooner or later and Arthur wasn’t ‘avoiding’ it so much as not actively encouraging it. Merlin was keeping secrets himself though, Arthur wasn’t a moron, and he would have those said before things went any further. Where was further? Arthur wasn’t sure but he knew that he wanted to keep Merlin, forever, and longer if he could. There was no part of him that wanted to give up Merlin. No matter what the man had said about destiny and fate and past lives (and god but that was all starting to make a sort of sense that was horrifying and very very dangerous but Arthur would not admit it yet). “The army doesn’t hold many enquiries against it’s own.”

“I broke the TV.” Merlin admitted, as he pulled the door closed behind him. No keys, but Arthur heard the lock click into place. He ignored that as well. Ignoring was relatively easy, and compared to dealing with it? It was so easy it was disturbing.

“Stupid. I’ll get you a new one.” He said it without thinking, planned to demand his driver deal with it tomorrow but Merlin just laughed at it, like the idea was preposterous.

“Sure. Get me Skye while you’re at it.” He joked.

Arthur added it to the list, it’s not like he couldn’t afford it, and followed Merlin down to the street where his car was waiting. Arthur had to pull Merlin towards the car (parked straight outside the door and waiting as it should be) before Merlin twigged that the big black thing was their transport.

“You guys went all out, ha?”

“Sure.” Arthur let it slide. But who in their right mind hired a car because of… something to celebrate. Okay it made perfect sense, he wouldn’t fault Merlin that. The driver didn’t talk to them, and Arthur sat too close to Merlin and no-one seemed to mind any of it, which Arthur liked. He also liked been able to touch Merlin, to reassure that primal part of his brain that hadn’t recovered from the idea that Merlin might be damaged and he just couldn’t see it.

 

Everyone was drunk. Merlin wasn’t. So maybe everyone wasn't drunk. But the group were fairly drunk and even though it was an outside terrace (Arthur had double checked that he was fine with that and assured him they could go somewhere else if he wasn’t) the heaters were on and most of the outer jackets had been dumped on chairs amongst the warmth of alcohol and company.

Merlin had spent an hour hunting Manus out of the crowd of jeering soldiers and trying to get to know him. He was pleasantly surprised by how quick witted the boy was (Merlin was reluctant to call someone barely 18 a man) and Manus had shown a shrewd mistrust of Merlin that Merlin had found appealing. Apparently Merlin hadn’t endeared himself to all of the soldiers, and Manus was all for making sure Arthur wasn’t being saddled with some harpy who was using the man for his money.

Merlin found the entire idea amusing (though actually his bank account was starting to hurt, and he’d spent a week inside and failed to increase on his savings for uni, which was… he would need to make it up with more shifts next month). But Merlin had made the worst jokes he could, shown Manus a slight of hand trick he knew (a real one, no magic involved) and Manus had sparked to life and stolen Merlins wallet, just to show he could. Merlin had been extra pleased by that, then less so when he realised that there was money missing from it.

Arthur had corrected Manus, given Merlin his money back and then dragged Merlin away from the crowd. Merlin waves over his shoulder to the others before Arthur has him dragged around a corner. He was not really paying attention, pleasantly buzzed and trying not to think but then Arthur pined him against the wall, arms on either side of Merlins head and stared at him, eyes dark and expression determined.

“Oh.” Merlin’s pulse racketed, and his head thumped back. The alcohol was pleasant, but he wasn’t drunk enough to excuse it. But he did nothing to stop Arthur when he moved in and he didn’t mind the feel of a mouth attached to his neck, or the hands that wander across his ribs and hips and down one leg to hitch it up. He followed the commands and actions, eyes on the roof as he tried to dredge up enough concern to stop it all.

He reasoned that Gwen wasn’t there yet, Gwen wasn’t part of the picture. He was not doing anything that would hurt her, not yet. Maybe later she’d find out, but that was later, and he’d deal with it then. Maybe he’d wipe his own mind of the memory and they’d be nothing but good friends. He did not let him realise that one day Arthur is going to find someone he loved more, and then Merlin would be nothing but an awkward moment in his past.

He was unbuckled, and breathless. Aroused and willing to let Arthur do whatever he wanted, in a dinky corridor off the side of the stupid bar. Any lull in the noise on the terrace and they would be heard, and Merlin couldn’t cut the little keens escaping him off. Because, Jesus, but Arthur knew how to make his body respond and Merlin could barely think to return favours and touches. He just let himself get lost in the physical, and he knew his eyes were burning so he squeezed them shut from the world and clenched his hands when Arthur dropped to his knees. Merlin was only glad that he didn’t have to do anything for a few more minutes.

It wasn’t until Arthur had finished, and Merlin was holding himself up against the wall to keep from falling that Merlin remembered there was etiquette involved in this sort of thing, and he forced one hand to unclench and to reach out to Arthur, to draw him back. But Arthur caught the hand, tugged him off the wall, (he was not ready for that sort of movement and fell against Arthur – who laughed) and carefully straightened Merlin out. He even tucked Merlins shirt back in, which Merlin thought was stupid since anyone looking would know he’d just gotten off, but he supposed it made more sense when Arthur dragged him, not back onto the terrace, but outside and into the same waiting black car.

“Home.” Arthur ordered the driver, and Merlin curled into his side, comfortable and sated and wishing the world would always feel this good and make this much sense. Arthurs arm over his shoulders made all things cease to matter, except for the moment, and it was absolute perfection. He didn’t sleep until Arthurs led him into a strange apartment (he’d never been to Arthurs apartment, why hadn’t he noticed that before?) and nestled him down into an over soft bed. Merlin didn’t even complain when Arthur crawled in behind him and enfolded him in thick arms.

“You’re not getting away from me again, Merlin.” He warned, and Merlin as only too glad to hear it. He didn’t want to get away, not from Arthur, never. Even if it couldn’t last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully that's a better place to leave it than all that angst. o.O I did not mean to stop updating at the worst time. But that's life. Stupid life.
> 
> Please leave a comment. :) I love comments.


	20. Holiday

Merlin spent the next morning not panicking, then worrying that he wasn’t panicking. That was sex. There’s no other way to define it. But it had been other things as well and Merlin had enjoyed those more than the release of sex, he also didn’t want to think of them because they were dangerous and made him feel comfortable and safe and he was not allowed that with Arthur Pendragon the Once and Future King of Albion.

“If I tell you not to panic this time, will it do any good?” Arthur asked pleasantly from the doorway leading into the lounge room. There were many doorways in this apartment, Merlin had to open two guest bedroom doors and one bathroom door before he’d found the living room. He’d not checked where the three other doors leading out of the lounge room led, but he was beginning to suspect he was in some sort of ‘worth more than he’d ever earn in his lifetime’ apartment. The view was also a give away.

“Is that the Serpentine?” Merlin had his head titled to the side, looking through he left eye at the view. Arthur glanced.

“Unless there’s another lake like that in Hyde Park.” He teased, because really, of course it was the Serpentine. He didn’t bother to ask if Merlin was freaking out again, he doubted Merlin wouldn’t freak out, but it seemed more subdued this time around. Which he liked. If he kept at it maybe Merlin would cease to freak out entirely. Arthur put that at the top of his ‘to do’ list.

“So, you’re a cleared man. What are you going to do now?” Merlin turned to face him and Arthur reassessed. Apparently Merlin wasn’t freaked out at all. Which he couldn’t place. It was possible because neither of them had been that drunk, maybe tipsy at best. He would test that out next time. It felt strange planning a strategy for getting into Merlins bed, but it seemed one was needed and the outcome was worth it. There were some other things, besides Merlins concern, that he needed to deal with, but they would come about in their own time. Actually-

“Actually I have something on this weekend. A family gathering. It’s up near Slough on an estate. I’ve booked a guest house, so there’s lots of room.” He forged on despite his own doubts. “Would you like to come?” Then realised he had to clarify. “You can’t, umm, you can’t come to the event itself. I wasn’t given a plus one. But the event should only last a few hours, and I’m there for three days. So…”

Like a surprised dear Merlin blinked at him. Arthur waited, about three seconds in total, before deciding he might have just short circuited the man’s brain.

“Or not. I just though the fresh air might do some good-”

“Sure.” Merlin seemed hesitant still, but curious.

“You’ll get your own room.” Arthur assured, and then wished he hadn’t said it, because maybe Merlin had been happy to share a room and he’d just ruined the chance of that happening. But he didn’t regret the words for long because Merlins uncertainty vanished.

“You’re sure?” He was all bright eyes and Arthur expected him to start to rock on his heels any second now.

Arthur grinned. “Positive.” His family could be damned if they had any problems with Merlins presence. He wasn’t going in any capacity except as Arthurs friend and Arthur would not waste time excusing his company. After all he planned for Merlin to be around for as long as he could be convinced to stay, and Arthur had great faith in his ability to convince people to do things.

Merlin seemed to realise something, looking back at the window and it’s view, “You’re loaded, aren’t you?”

“I make do.” Arthur replied and couldn’t hide the stupid grin that Merlin seemed to pull out of him so easily. He wondered what it would take for Merlin to put it all together, what it would take for Merlins brain to click onto the answer. One day it was going to happen and Arthur didn’t actually think it would change anything. After all a man who thought of Arthur as the Once and Future King wasn’t going to be miffed by finding out he had some connections in that court already.

“I didn’t know soldiers made that much.” Merlin mused, and Arthur was grinning at him. Amused by the confused expression and the pure stupidity of it. Not that Merlin was stupid, just insanely ignorant about many things most people took for granted. And he watched the news. Arthur snorted by accident and when Merlin glared he smiled mockingly.

“My family had some money.” Which apparently was enough, because Merlin shrugged and turned his attention to three of the doors.

“Where’s breakfast?” He demanded and Arthur lead him onto the kitchen and found that his fridge was stacked and there was a bowl of fruit salad in there (unusual but he didn’t look a gift horse in the mouth). He settled into breakfast cheerfully and let Merlin find his own food (he ended up stealing half of Arthurs, which Arthur really didn’t mind but felt the need to fight about anyway).

 

Merlin sprawled across the double bed (maybe it was a queen sized bed? It was huge whatever size it was) and stared out the giant windows onto green grass and manicured trees. He didn’t want to consider how much it must cost to hire this kind of guest house out for two nights, but thought the other’s should have been invited anyway, because… Jesus the place was stunning. Will would have loved it, Merlin knew and tried not to let the thought make him too sad.

Arthur had left after breakfast, explained he’d be about seven hours (apparently that’s how long brunch took here) and told Merlin to do whatever he wanted to do within the grounds of the guest house. Apparently the place didn’t take well to people wandering around the rest of the grounds without permission. Since Merlin couldn’t actually see the edges of the guest house grounds (he was assured they were clearly marked with a stone fence) he was fairly confident it wouldn’t be a problem.

It helped that he didn’t want to get out of bed. He’d eaten breakfast with Arthur, pottered about the house looking at all the things he couldn’t afford, and then gone back to bed. He was thinking he couldn’t stay for long though, because his brain was starting to cycle back to Will and he wasn’t ready to think about him today. Even Will wouldn’t have accepted that kind of moping.

Merlin pushed off the bed and decided to see where the darn fence was. It couldn’t be that far away, but it seemed like a thing to use his time with. Besides until Arthur came back he had nothing else to do.

He was not expecting to have made it halfway across the lawn (heading towards the stream he could see and hoping the fence was on the other side of it) to run into a woman. She seemed as surprised to see him, paused, tilted her head and then smiled serenely.

“We haven’t met.” She greeted, and extended her hand with regal purpose. “I’m Morgana.”

“Merlin.” Merlin replied automatically, feeling clammy handed and taking Morgana’s hand. He shook it firmly then realised she might have been expecting a kiss of something, but she smiled like there was a private joke and then her expression went blank.

“Merlin?” She checked.

“You’ve… heard of me?” He wasn’t sure at all. Morgana seemed like a name he should know. Which was a thought he wanted to kick himself for the next minute, because _of course_ Morgana was a name he should know. “Oh, you’re Arthurs sister.” He was struck with two distinct responses. His logical response which said this was a stranger who had shown no viciousness or reason to distrust, and the part of him buried deep down that whispered of destiny and fate and history and wanted him to strike her down and strangle her where she stood.

“Not officially.” She corrected archly. “Uther, after all, was a good husband and never cheated on his wife. Which makes me a cousin. A distant cousin.” She smiled smoothly. “Arthur didn’t tell you that.” It was a question but it was clear she knew this. Merlin smiled as disarmingly as he could.

“Well the name...” He realised a moment later he implicated himself in the whole mess when he brought attention to their names, but it was too late and he’d done it now. Hopefully she’d pass him off like so many had before.

“Ah.” Morgana smiled, vicious and pleased, “that was my real father, the man who raised me’s, snipe at Uther. A last gauntlet, so to speak. That’s why it’s not official, but everyone in the family knows. Anyone who thinks for two seconds should know.” Her brows pulled into a small frown, arch and perfect. “But enough about me.” Her smile flicked back on. “You’re father had an ear for fairy tales as well, it seems.”

Merlin would normally smile it off, but he wanted to unsettle her, keep her wrong-footed; “I wouldn’t know, he disappeared long before I was born.”

“Not more than nine months though.” She countered, reasonable and calm, but also without the viciousness Merlin realised he was expecting.

“I think it was eight months before I was born. I never really asked my mother, it seemed to upset her.” It was like driving a dagger in and twisting it. His sob story always got an awkward pause or a distressed look (distressed because the other people knew they were trapped with no polite way out of the moment). Morgana smiled in a sympathetic way.

“My father died when I was three. It’s not the same, of course, but I know nothing about him. No-one was ever willing to tell me anything, in fear of ‘upsetting’ me.” This she waved off with annoyance, a flash of her hand in a backwards direction behind her and Merlin almost thought her fingers sparked with magic. But it might have been the sun, it was feasibly hard to tell since he had never seen magic do anything so showy before.

“But still,” Merlin prodded, “three years.”

“My mother died when I was four.” Morgana continued an odd light in her eyes, “She killed herself in a rare moment of lucidity. Apparently fathers ghost needed her more than I did.” If it hadn’t been delivered with the clearest, most calm, expression Merlin would have been squirming. As it was he merely looked back at her.

“My mother worked her whole life to educate and feed me. She only left my side when I turned 18 and she got married.” Merlin admitted, wondering if this was another type of knife, but Morgana, strange woman that she was only smiled in reply, amused. Apparently it was a family trait to find absolutely everything amusing.

“So I win! Excellent. I shall tell Arthur when I go back to the party that I out sob storied his new lover. He will be horrified-“ she confided quickly, taking his arm and moving him into a walk, “-that I have found you, and that will make it all the sweeter.”

Merlin didn’t want to bring Will up, didn’t think a wound that close could be poked at without bleeding out and leaving him hollow again. “I’m not his lover.” Merlin corrected instead. “I have my own room.” Which felt like more of an excuse than actual proof but he couldn’t take it back.

“Yes, yes.” Morgana patted his arm, pulling him down to a path by the stream. “And I’m not his sister.” She smiled, “See? It all works out in the end.”

Merlin tried to disengage her hand, but it clung like a leech. “Really-“ He emphasised, “-not his-“

“Merlin.” Her voice was deep, dark. Something that crackled with ages lost, something stronger than anything he had ever encountered. Merlin turned slowly to her, cautious of sudden moves. “We felt you wake up. We all did. We’ve been waiting for you to come, to wake us up again. To give us a new chance.”

“I’m trying.” He replied without thinking, and his voice was just his own, no power or magic or history in his words. Just words.

“Then it will be enough, just as it always is.” She smiled at him, disarming and pretty. “Now,” without a beat missed, and no longer aged in time, “tell me he writes you poetry, or kills stags and presents you with their heads.” And Merlin was dragged along on the most unexpected and awkward tete-a-tete of his life. In fact he wasn’t sure if he’d ever been in a situation that could be called a tete-a-tete before, but this was one, for sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh no. I've posted too fast and now I don't have anything spare updates to post. *frets*


	21. Attack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only three comments for the last update. :(

Merlin was at the kitchen bench, a piece of buttered toast (he’d found the toaster, it had been a struggle) hanging from his mouth as he absently flipped through a book, one on the different branches of English Military, when things went pear shaped. He’d managed to shake Morgana off (she’s had to go back to the brunch, or he probably never would have gotten rid of her) and spent a pleasant hour and a half fiddling with the forces of nature until he’d thought about Will and the stupid things he would have tried to get Merlin to do with that level of power. After that nothing had seemed to do quite what he wanted, and he’d dumped half a river on the banks and spent ten frantic minutes getting the wildlife back into the water where it could actually _survive_.

Then he’d decided he had better stop. It was a shame because he’d been figuring out how to part the river without interrupting the flow (apparently parting the river and stopping the flow was easy, it was the more subtle magic that was complicated). It had been kind of fun, and working with that level of water was exhilarating and distracted, but also terrifying. He’d left it to it’s course and returned back to the silent house where he had nothing but memories to twist into his thoughts while he bided his time until Arthur returned.

He would have expected people to knock on the door if they wanted to get in, maybe not Morgana but other people. What he got instead was the whisper of company from the wind as it blew in through the front door, and before he’d considered what that meant saw a flicker of movement on the reflective surfaces opposite him and had begun to turn. It wasn’t until his shoulders had been caught and braced from behind and his face crushed into the bench that his brain had time to register: black uniform, a slash of red, gun... Gun stopped him short and instead of flinching or fighting back Merlin froze.

“What-?” He demanded and swallowed the last bite of toast before it lodged in his suddenly dry throat. “What do you want?” He knew it was army, he wasn’t sure what kind (he hadn’t gotten that far in the book), but the reflection of the men that he could see was only ever going to be military. Rigid lines and perfect attention, it would put Arthur and his team to shame.

“Quite.” Was ordered, and since the man had the muzzle of a gun pressed up against the soft spot at the base of Merlins skull he wasn’t going to argue. He fell into silence, letting the men behind him calm down.

In silence Merlin began to draw in the wind that had come into the room with the men to himself. Twisting it around his fingers with gentle encouragement, tightening it into something harder and stronger than a soft breeze could be on it’s own. He twirled his fingers as carefully as he could, aware of the cold press of metal on the nape of his neck, making the wind stronger and obedient (it already was, wind liked him, but he needed its absolute co-operation) as he drew more air in through the door.

Behind him the man shouted out, “Suspect secured, check the upper levels.” And Merlin could hear the other men (how many were there?) storming up the stairs of the house in a practiced synchronised way that made it all the clearer that they were trained.

“What’s happening?” Merlin persisted in as subdued a voice as he could manage even though that nozzle dug in harder. Merlin released a tense breath, fingers tightening and ready to throw that wind back at the men behind him. He wasn’t sure how strong it would be, or what advantage it would give him. But not been at the end of a gun seemed highly preferable to where he was. In the distance, beyond the house he could feel the plants ready to protect him. Cocoon him against this assault and hide him until he had time to process what the hell was happening. For that he would need to get to the tree line.

The windows rattled around the kitchen, glass doors clunking in their frames as the world outside tried to break in to get to him. Merlin encouraged it, even as the tension of the four men behind him racketed up a notch.

Another man entered, Merlin could see it in the reflection of the door he was facing, head resting on the hard marble surface. “Upper floor clear,” the man informed with a gravelly voice that did not sooth Merlin at all, “he’s our only guest.” And wasn't that ominous?

Merlin fastened his fist around the winds, and he felt the world outside, the earth, straining and ready to respond at his slightest command. He wanted to spit and hiss, because of course he was the only one in the house. Arthur wasn’t there. Which raised a more important question.

“Where is Arthur?” He demanded now the thought was there. If these men had hurt Arthur- the glass door cracked, the room thick with the sparks of electricity. Merlin pulled that in just as quickly, tying it into his only weapon. No-one would hurt Arthur or by all that was sacred Merlin would destroy them all. He would not loose anyone else again.

There was a pause from the men behind him. “You’re under arrest.” He was informed and his left arm was wrenched backwards towards his jailer. He got his first good look at the men behind him in the mirror reflection across the bench and was not comforted to realise that all four of the rifles were trained on him like some sort of terrorist.

“Got that.” Merlin hissed out as cold metal slapped down onto his first wrist. They were official, not some random people here to hurt him. He tried to remember that, and that he was not in trouble (maybe) and that this was all a misunderstanding (he hoped), but he could not calm down. Apparently he really wasn’t insane.

“House three secured.” The man who had entered last muttered into a radio, focus fixed on Merlin.

“Yeah.” Merlin growled. “I was a real threat.” The man behind him reached for his other arm to secure the handcuffs and Merlin felt a moment of panic. If his hands were behind him he wouldn’t be able to throw the winds, which would mean he was loosing control, completely loosing control of the situation. He resisted, shifting his arm before it could be captured, and the automatic response from the man behind him was to push him, hard, back into the counter.

There was one moment where Merlin knew his head was going to crack against the marble and he reacted. He flung his right hand up to try and stop it from happening, but his forehead connected with the hard marble anyway. The noise of the contact was drowned out as something nearby cracked. It was a sound like breaking rock, and Merlin, dazed, glanced to his bracing hand, the counter below his splayed fingers and to the fissure that had cracked through the solid marble. He realised he’d let the wind go, tried to catch it back up with scrabbling fingers. Tried to draw it in as it raced out of his hold and along that fissure. But it was angry and it was protective and it had it’s own plans. In less than two seconds it was out of his control and it lashed out.

It smacked against the stove front, impacted with a shattering of glass and reflection, found a new path and twisted itself, aiming at the men who had startled at the unexpected but kept their guns trained on Merlin.

“Jesus.” Merlin cursed even as the tunnel of wind whipped past him, leaving him unscathed as it slammed into the first guard (the one with the weapon at Merlins neck). Merlin twisted his head, trying not to move, knowing that if he moved those guns still fixed on him might just trigger. He wanted to run, to embrace that offer from the elements outside as they rattled the house with buffering winds and branches threw themselves at the building, but he did not think he could get far enough fast enough.

Two doors broke, the chairs on the deck moved under the howl of desperate winds and the house shook upon its foundations as Merlins breeze slammed into the guard behind Merlin and knocked him backwards and into the glass door. Glass shattered against his back and the door fractured apart below the mans weight. The wind tried to twist, Merlin could feel it’s attempt to redirect, but winds had to obey their own rules, and before it could make a fuss it had been drawn out through the broken door, past the fallen man and into the windstorm outside. Merlin pulled himself into his seat, making himself as small as possible but did not move. He listened to the gale as it twinned itself amongst the outside elements, trying to find a new path to pull itself back into the house. He ordered it to stay out there, where it could do the least damage.

“Hold target!” One of the men shouted and Merlin was glad he hadn’t moved, because one breeze, no mater how powerful hadn’t stopped three weapons from being fixed on him.

“Not me!” Merlin insisted into the marble, raising on auto pilot to lift his hands above his head.

“Stay down!” and “Don’t move.” Were ordered simultaneously, and Merlin froze all over again unsure which one to obey, his hands half raised, one clutched around a breeze fierce enough to match and mate with the one loose outside (it did not want to move on).

“Calm down.” Merlin muttered to himself and everything around him, because now the house was in on it, and upstairs something had tumbled and fallen and Merlin didn’t even know if anyone was up there but it was spooking the armed men around him.

“Back on the counter!” He was ordered and he did it, because they’d been professional before and now they all looked as spooked as they should be. “Hands behind your head.” Merlin did it just as quickly drawing hard deep breaths. He was not getting shot in the back of the head. “Unclench your left hand.” The man ordered. Merlin twitched the fingers automatically, felt the pulse of wild wind and clenched down again.

“Ahh…” Merlin dragged out against their tension. “Probably not best.” He tried to disarm with a smile, but he was face first against a marble bench and he might not even be able to be heard over the gale outside. To make it harder still, rain began to fall, thick heavy smatterings of water that pounded against the glass walls and in through the broken door and drenching everything.

Fog, Merlin decided, would be more useful. But things outside were too tumultuous for fog and he couldn’t actually order anything outside (why was there so much greenery around holiday cottages?) into the semblance of control he’d need for something as subtle as fog. Everything was too panicked and Merlin was having a hard time begin anything but himself.

“What are you holding?” The same soldier who had been speaking demanded.

“Air.” Merlin replied over the roar of outside, then reconsidered when he realised how antagonistic that sounded. “Nothing.” He tried to correct.

“Open your hand.”

He considered saying it was a grenade, pretty much as dangerous as one, but didn’t think these men would take that kind of knowledge well.

“I- I don’t think I can.” He apologised as best he could refusing to move. “It’s stuck.” He tried to sound as pathetic as he could, even if a ‘stuck’ hand made no sense. But what else could he say? He wasn’t dropping the breeze anyway, it was his and with the other one loose outside and not immediately useful to him it was his only defence. He was fairly sure under his command it would do much more damage than the other had.

“If that hand so much as twitches...” The man, the one who had been knocked over, threatened as he stepped closer. The man had just gotten his hand on the half attached handcuff, moving with caution (it was unreasonable for them to think Merlin was to blame for the insane weather outside and in, really Merlin had never met another person with magic, it made no sense for them to suspect him of it), when they were interrupted.

“What-“ Arthur began, his voice deadly, “the hell is going on in here?”

Merlin felt the shudder of relief and sagged against the counter. Arthur was fine. And something in Arthurs tone suggested there would be no need for drastic action on Merlins half. Outside the world responded, and although things continued to rattle, rain continued to try and drown the world, and loose branches whipped against the windows, they calmed. The solider nearest Merlin went to move again.

“Finish putting those on him and I’ll break your wrist.” Arthur promised, and again the people around Merlin paused. It was as good a sign that Arthur had control of this situation as Merlin needed.

“We are under-“

“That is a guest, in my house. What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“We have orders-“

“Let him up.” Arthur interrupted fiercely. When no-one moved he stepped further into the room. “Let him up.”

Merlin felt the man behind him relax his hold, slowly and cautiously stepping back and away from Merlin. Outside the windows stopped shaking. Carefully, aware that things could change, Merlin twisted around on his seat, his hands lowered at his side. He got his first look at Arthur, rain drenched, tussled, and clearly frazzled.

“Merlin-“

“Arthur.” Merlin flashed the man a grin for his interruption, Arthur moved on, stone faced and radiating anger.

“-are you okay?”

“I think-“ Merlin glanced at the bench, “the bench is dead.” And it was, with it’s fracture through the middle, bits of stone flung aside, it would never be the single piece of marble it had been before. Merlin wondered if he could fix it, consciously, but with so many people having seen it break it was best to let it go.

“I don’t give a shit about the bench, Merlin. Are you okay?”

“I think I’m under arrest.” Merlin replied with the same calm he’d been trying to use with the soldiers. Apparently he was using it better now.

“What’s wrong with your hand?” Arthur snapped, his eyes on the five soldiers with a dangerous glint in his eyes.

“My hand?” Merlin looked at it, clenched white knuckled around a wind that had been building itself into a frenzy and he released a nervous chuckle. “Ah, nothing.”

“It’s possible he has a weapon, sir.” One of the men, the one in charge (Merlin could see the extra stripes on his shoulder pads) ventured.

“A weapon?” Arthur repeated incredulously. He started to say something, back tracked, broke off and tried again only to repeat the process. In the end he stopped the twists of his thoughts and settled with a hard glare on the soldiers. “What are you doing in my home?”

“I just need to-“ Merlin inched himself off his chair, aiming for the nearest door (he’d get rid of the magiced wind there and then no-one had to worry about what he was holding) but Arthur stopped him sharply.

“Don’t move.”

Merlin wanted to argue the order, it was all well and good for Arthur to order these soldiers about (who were not in his unit and probably had no affiliation with him) but Merlin bristled under orders. However the tension in Arthurs body gave him pause, and Merlin pulled himself back up onto the stool, twiddling with the breeze in his hand and twisting it into calmer, more obedient magic.

“Sir, we were given orders. There was an incident-“

“I was there.” Arthur snapped, shutting the man in charge off (well okay Arthur seemed like he was the man in charge, but the man in charge of the other soldiers).

The soldier rallied himself well. “We were instructed to clear all the houses on the estate, and to find, detain, and question anyone found inside.”

“Merlin,” Arthur rumbled, with the same hard voice he had begun with, “did they knock?”

Merlin raised his shoulders in a half shrug, “I was eating toast-“

“Toast?!” Arthur’s fist tightened, “How very threatening of him. I see why you stormed into _my_ house and accosted my guest with assault rifles when he was eating breakfast.”

“Brunch.” Merlin corrected.

“Merlin shut up.” Was just as quickly spat out, and Merlin huffed a sigh, apparently he wasn’t needed for this at all. “Now,” Arthur dropped the hard edge in his voice, “flick your safety’s back on, take that stupid handcuff off him, and I’m sure Merlin will answer any questions you have for him. Wont you Merlin?”

Merlin started at the sudden attention (it had never really gone anywhere but Arthur made him feel irresponsibly safe), “What? Yes! Safety’s on. I like that.” Merlin rambled and watched the soldiers do nothing, wondering if maybe Arthur didn’t have as much control as he’d assumed. He was about to start worrying when the soldier in charge made a motion and automatically the four armed men (in perfect synch) did something to their guns (Merlin couldn’t actually follow it) and rested the barrels of their guns up against their shoulders. Like a soldiers parade rest (Merlin had gotten to that part of army training fairly early on in the literature). Instantly Arthur relaxed (apparently he’d been too early in the relaxing thing and Merlin tried to remember that for the future).

“Right. Lets sit down.” Arthur motioned Merlin over to the dinning table, and Merlin complied, aware that outside the storm had abated, and there was only silence waiting to accompany their meeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please please please comment? It makes my day worthwhile when I get a comment.


	22. Interrogation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moving house and then everyone got Chicken Pox. It's been crazy, beyond crazy in these parts!

Apparently ‘sit down’ was an optional thing, because the four armed soldiers remained standing at perfect attention in Merlins periphery and their leader had had to talk a long time on his radio before he too sat down. He sat perfectly straight, attention unwaveringly fixed on Merlin. Merlin felt this was entirely unnecessary, but did not comment because he liked his life and Arthur had that tense line along the back of his neck which meant maybe Merlin should listen to him this once.

Arthur had taken the break to make more toast, which he shoved in front of Merlin, and two cups of tea, one of which he gave to Merlin. Merlin ignored both, watching through reflections the men behind him.

“Now,” Arthur directed to the soldier, “question away.”

Merlin focused.

“Were you at, or did you go near, the engagement celebrations-“

“Actually,” Arthur cut in sharply face stony, “Merlin tell them what you did all morning.”

“He was asking me a question.” Merlin tried to be polite, but Arthur was turning every which way that didn’t make sense and Merlin was actually feeling much more happy about taking to the soldiers while there were no guns trained on him.

“You where here all morning, weren’t you?” Arthur overrode.

With a resigned sigh Merlin settled back into his chair. “Mostly.” The soldiers tensed, and Arthur waved at them in annoyance.

“Tell them- tell me,” Arthur corrected, “in fine detail, exactly how you spent your day.”

Merlin did as instructed, in the most tiny detail he could remember because he felt like being an ass and he never could stop his mouth once it had started on a proper ramble. He went from waking up, to breakfast, to Arthur going out, to deciding to walk around the grounds, to meeting Morgana.

“Morgana was on the grounds?” Arthur grit out with a different type of anger.

Merlin shrugged as Arthur turned his attention to his phone, “I was pretty sure she’d tell you about it.” Because she had certainly implied as much. “I think she might be evil.” He stage whispered that, because she hadn’t actually seemed evil at all. There’d been something black about her, but not evil.

“She is.” Arthur agreed, phone at his ear. “Morgana,” Arthur enunciated carefully down the line, “I see you met my friend today.” There was a long pause Arthurs expression crinkled and hard to read. Arthur stood up and stepped away from the table, talking low, but still quite audible. “He’s been questioned by the guard.” Arthur sputtered, “Yes I know that!” And even at that distance everyone in the room could hear the racket Morgana was making on the other end. “Morgana, that’s- what were you even- No. You have to tell that to the lieutenant, I- Of course he didn’t do it!” There was another tirade from the other end of the line, Arthur breathing deep hard breaths to stay calm and Merlin was actually slightly amused by the show (he shouldn’t be, he knew that, but he totally was). “I’m going to hand you over to the lieutenant now, you will tell him when, where and for how long you saw Merlin. Tomorrow we’ll discuss trespassing.” Arthurs commanding tone with met with a light tinkle of laughter that the whole room could hear, and then the man handed his phone over to the lieutenant with a grimace.

Merlin, distracted, stared at Arthur (who seemed quite happy not to re-join the table until the phone conversation was done with). “You own this place?” He checked, because his hearing wasn’t that bad, but he was sure Arthur hadn’t said anything like that before.

Arthur seemed to flounder, staring at Merlin for a long moment of complete bewilderment, then snorted ungracefully. “Unbelievable.” He muttered, and shook his head. “You-“ again a head shake, “Still Merlin? Really?”

Merlin sat taller, “What?”

Arthur was about to say something, something that looked ready to tumble out of his mouth with the ease of something fundamental and simple, but his attention shifted to behind Merlin, to the five men who had invaded the house and his back tensed. Whatever was about to be said was swallowed down into nothing. Merlin wasn’t fussed, if Arthur had looked conflicted, scared, anything like that Merlin would have worried. But Arthur had just looked amused, surprised… the same things he often looked when he looked at Merlin.

“The house is my fathers.” Which Merlin took as a topic not to be touched on, because Arthur did not, under any circumstances like to talk about the man. “Are you done here?” Arthur demanded and for a moment Merlin thought it was directed at him, but Arthurs eyes were fixed firmly on the lieutenant at the table.

“Your cousin can confirm his whereabouts, but not for the last two hours. We’ll have to take his details and report back.”

“Yes fine.” Arthur waved that off. “Merlin give him all your contact details.”

Merlin did it without thinking (surely they could find him even if he didn’t, he wasn’t the best hidden person in the world) and when the soldiers had gone and the house was empty (Arthur frowned at the broken door but didn’t mention it) Merlin really did relax. He let out a strained laugh, but Arthur did not join in, instead frowning at the bench (it was completely ruined).

“Well, at least we’re going home tomorrow.” Merlin offered with a smile to try and lighten the moment. Instead Arthur’s expression clouded over and without it being said Merlin knew that something darker was happening than just an invasion of property.

He waited out the awkward silence, until Arthurs phone rang again and with the alacrity of a soldier himself Arthur excused himself and was gone. Merlin waited a long time, feeling for anyone else in the house, checking he was alone, before he opened the doors to the outside and let the trapped breeze slither out into the wild world where it belonged. Then he went to bed, very early. It took three hours of reassurance from the world around him before he drifted to sleep. It would wake him if anyone came back.

 

Merlin woke at an obscenely early hour the next morning and could not go back to sleep, the sound of fire thick in his ears was a roar that would not grant him peaceful rest. A reflection of tragedy that made it burn bright again in his memory. It was dark outside still but Merlin made himself breakfast, and set aside the makings of breakfast for Arthur as well so when the man got up they could get through the meal and go home.

Merlin wasn’t adverse to holidays, but that whole ordeal had soured him to the holiday a little and he’d rather be back in his flat where he could breath and think and go out and get drunk with Gwaine without interruption.

Resolutely Merlin ignored the broken bench and door (a part of him wanted to fix them, since they were Arthurs, but he couldn’t think of how to explain the miraculous recovery so didn’t) and set about packing the things he’d bought with him. It took about five minutes (it was a three day holiday, of course it didn’t take long) and then Merlin was stuck with nothing to do until Arthur woke up.

He tried to work the television, but the buttons didn’t comply with him and when he finally got it on they were talking about the fire. He wasn’t sure why they were still talking about it, probably building codes, but he switched it off immediately, took fifty gulping breaths and curled into a small ball on the lounge to wait out the relentless wakefulness until Arthur woke up (he was upstairs, Merlin could tell) so they could leave.

He did not expect, some three hours later when Arthur did show up, ragged and tired, to be told they wouldn’t be leaving until late in the afternoon.

“I want to go now.” Merlin tried to make it an order, but really it just sounded like a whine.

“Well we can’t.” Was all Arthur was willing to say on the topic and went about the kitchen burning everything he tried to cook and making a right mess of Merlins fine efforts to provide a decent meal for the man.

“Why not?” Merlin persisted, following Arthur and his smoking breakfast over to the table.

“Because I own the car, and that’s when I’m leaving.”

Apparently that was it, if Merlin was any judge of the tone. It didn’t stop him from trying, but no amount of pestering and pleading seemed to work and it all seemed to put Arthur more and more on edge with each try. It took an hour to annoy Arthur out of his sensibilities and the temper that the man had been hiding jumped through with a viciousness that surprised even Merlin. Why he was surprised that a warlord (and Arthur had been a warlord) could have a temper Merlin would wonder about later, for now he was cowed by the sheer anger directed at him.

“Just shut up the fuck up about it Merlin, we’re not going until I say we’re going.”

“Fine.” Merlin replied, closing down against the verbal assault and drawing himself in tight so that the anger couldn’t touch him again. It didn’t matter that Arthur looked momentarily contrite or that he knew something must be wrong for Arthur to be responding like that (they hadn’t known each other long, but Merlin had been trying to learn the man and he was sure this was just another response to whatever it was that had happened yesterday - which he was going to ask about as soon as Arthur was in a mood to not rip his head off). Merlin went out onto the deck to breath in the fresh air. He did not want to deal with this version of Arthur right now, he was still shaken from the day before and he wanted to unwind, it was the only reason he wanted to go home.

Merlin drew in a deeper breath, letting the flicker of life and comfort that seeped out of the earth sweep in around and inside him. Then settled himself on the deck, laying back against the wooden slats (an ancient tree taken apart for modern man, but still unique and alive in a way it hadn’t been before it was crafted). The breeze greeted him, caressing over his body and sliding back into the air. Voices on it where faint and mumbled (he ignored them).

Merlin breathed out, letting it go and his senses expanded; past Arthur in the kitchen (watching him through the broken glass), past the boundaries of the man made house, past the stretch of grass before the tree line, deeper into the trees to the river he’d played with the day before. Out and beyond he stretched himself, reaching up into the sky where air was thin and nothing travelled, and down deep where the earth was hard and compact with rock and relics of past life, where it was warm and safe. Merlin let himself drift in the wind, anchored by his human body amidst the ease of life and everything it encompassed.

It was something he’d never done, and as he pulled himself back slowly he knew he could never do it for long. It was too tempting to stay, loose on the wind and lost. Too easy to forget about destiny and friends, family, life. Too easy to be free. Too easy to escape from the horrible reality of the world.

“Merlin.”

Merlin jolted back to himself, blinking up at Arthur. The man was frowning down at him and that little bit of peace he had eked out disappeared into his own frown.

“Are we going?” Merlin groused. Arthur glanced into the kitchen and Merlin automatically followed the line of his eyes to see a stranger, ununiformed, in the kitchen. Merlin turned back to Arthur. “I have work, you know. Tonight.” Because that was actually something he had always been going to have to do. “I can’t not go.” He’d taken far far far too many sick days these past weeks and his shifts had already been halved. If it hadn’t been a midnight shift or if someone stepped up to take over, he knew, he’d lose the job in a heartbeat. But fortunately Starbucks was desperate, just not as desperate as he was.

“Alright,” Arthur braced himself, and Merlin twisted again to see the man (who made no pretence about staring at them through the shattered door frame), “lets get this over with.” Arthur straightened a fraction, raised his chin, but kept his eyes on Merlin. “You have to talk to my father.”

Merlin did not scoff, but it was a close thing. “Well nothings stopping him from coming over.” He waved magnanimously, and saw the cringe sweep Arthurs face. He did not feel a little bad.

“You could,” Arthur hesitated, took a side step so his back was to the staring man and something more vulnerable appeared to come to life in Arthurs expression. Merlin glared past his destined king to the man glowering at them from the kitchen. “Could you just do this? Once it’s done,” He bartered, sounding a little desperate, “we can leave.”

“Straight away?” Merlin was untrusting of vague promises.

“I have to pack.”

“You brought an overnight bag.” Merlin figured that would take about two minutes to pack in a hurry.

“I still have to pack it.” Arthur retorted, a smile on the corner of his lips until he saw Merlin’s eyes travel back behind them.

“Why?” Because this seemed very important to Arthur, and Merlin was pretty sure it wasn’t the ‘meet my one... two... three night stand’ meeting Arthur was aspiring towards.

“He heard you where here-”

“Something to do with the soldiers?” Merlin guessed, and really they needed to talk about that soon.

“Or Morgana.” Arthur admitted, and Merlin felt a little spite for the witch creep back into him. Morgana was the manipulative sort- it seemed. He shouldn’t have been surprised. “But, yeah, probably the guard.” Arthur shrugged, and stepped back, offering his hand to Merlin.

Merlin glared at it, wondering how much surrender would be measured if he used it to get up, and instead fumbled himself into an upright position and prepared to deal with Arthur Pendragon, the once and future king’s, father. Uther, if Merlin was any guess, but who knew what name the man used. The name thing could only go so far- surely.

 

Uther Pendra (apparently the name thing went back at least one generation) was the most wretched person Merlin had had the misfortune of having to pretend to like. Merlin couldn’t even force a smile that resembled genuine pleasure. It was a stretched horrid smile he offered to Uther, but by the mans response he’d never seen a real smile in his life so it passed muster.

“And you are my son’s… friend.” Uther sneered the last word, and Merlin supposed he should be glad the man wasn’t leering – that would be so disturbing he’d have to scrub his eyeballs out later (as it was the idea of it was enough for Merlin to hate his brain and everything it chose to consider when it should have been behaving).

“Yes, sir.” Merlin replied, back straight and trying very hard not to check on Arthur (standing to his left but back a few steps, not part of the conversation).

Uther looked to Arthur and waved his hand vaguely in Merlins face. “At least he knows his place.”

Merlin went to say something (he wasn’t sure what but something was going to be said) but Arthur beat him to it with a nod of his head. “Yes, father.”

Merlin made a noise of annoyance at that, and once again was trapped under the elder mans stern frown. “Is there a problem, boy?”

“I’m twenty-one.” Merlin grit out.

Uther blinked slowly then turned his focus back to Arthur. “Is he addled?” Which was asked with pure curiosity, and Merlin grit his teeth down only because Arthur was standing at army attention and facing his father with the kind of blank expression he used when he was dealing with something painful.

“I don’t believe so, father.”

“He appears to be. You should choose your friends better, Arthur.” Uther turned back to assess, looking Merlin over like a piece of cattle, and Merlin was distinctly aware of the hole on the left hand side of his shoe, the scuffed legs of his jeans, and the fact that his t-shirt had faded into a colour closer to grey than anything else (and no it wasn’t one of those prefadded ones that seemed so popular, he never did understand that fashion).

“Merlin is perfectly good company, father.”

“What?” Uther snapped it, and Arthurs mouth shut tight. Merlin wanted to step in, deflect the mans attention, but he didn’t think he could actually help with this. He’d learnt from Will that stepping between a parent and child when they fought was never appreciated. When Arthur did not reply Uther continued, his voice snake like and drawled, dangerous on levels Merlin hadn’t known existed out of movie villains. Alan Rickman would be given a run for his money face with Uther Pendragon (Pendra, their name was Pendra). “Are you defending this-“ another dismissive wave in his face “-scrawny upstart?” Uthers expression sharpened, “Where did you meant him?”

“That’s hardly relevant, father.”

“Don’t take that tone with me, son.” Uther hissed, and Merlin took a step back, out of range. The action had both men looking at him and Merlin didn’t care. He’d dealt with one father in his entire life, and it had been Wills. He wasn’t staying in hitting range if this escalated. “You bring some upstart friend you’ve met on the streets to my estate without my permission-”

“It’s my house.” Arthur ground out harshly.

“It is my house, Arthur, and do not think for a second it can not be taken from you just as quickly as it was given. You have done nothing to earn any of the things given to you, and I do not expect you ever will. So you will listen to me, and you will remember your place in this family.” Uther waited, back straight and taller than both of them, and Arthur met the glare with his own, but did not say another thing. Merlin waited, tense and uncertain, awkward for being in the company of a family argument, and oh so aware that he had to protect Arthur, even from this man. Uther took the extended silence as acquiescence. “You do not bring your… youthful dalliances onto these estates ever again. I have tolerated your behaviour up to now, but with the incident yesterday-“

“He didn’t poison the bloody champagne, father.”

“Wait. What?!” Merlin turned, wide eyed to stare at Arthur, and was completely ignored for the staring match happening between father and son.

“That has yet to be seen. But the fact remains that he could have, and you gave him every opportunity to-“

“Someone poisoned the champagne, at your…“ Engagement party. Actually, Merlin frowned, that had been what the soldier had called it, he was sure of it. “You’re not engaged are you?” Merlin hissed out suddenly, viciously, angry. “Because if you are I’ll give you a reason to regret bringing me to the bloody party-“

“Shut up Merlin!” Arthur snapped, turning attention away from his father to glare.

“Are you engaged?” Merlin hissed, no longer giving one rats ass about the looming presence getting off on his power trip.

“No.” Arthur replied, absolute and Merlin held his breath until he could read the sincerity in his friends expression. “It’s my… second cousin once removed’s engagement party.” He shook his head, “I’m not engaged.” He assured.

Merlin squinted at the man mixed between confusion and awe, “Your… second cousin once removed?” He repeated to be sure.

Arthur waved his hand dismissively. Merlin persisted.

“Why is your father hosting an engagement party for your second cousin… once removed?”

“Because it was meant to be low key.” Arthur snapped. “And then some fucken nutter tried to poison the entire family, and everyone decided it must be you! Because god knows Arthur only picks the crazy-“ He stopped short but Merlin couldn’t begin to be worried about Arthur calling him crazy in the face of the sudden deluge of emotion the man was shedding about the room. “Jesus.” Arthur huffed, glanced at Merlin and then skimmed his eyes across to the rigid man watching with his disapproving glower.

Merlin twitched to send him away, to get rid of the man and deal with Arthur now, while he needed the help, not in a few minutes when he was sure Arthur would have pulled all his guards back into place.

“Because,” Arthur slumped down into himself and Merlin saw the opportunity lost, “I invited you without telling anyone, and I shouldn’t have done that.”

“And now,” Uther interrupted, voice steel, “you see the problem.” The man took a controlling breath, “You have embarrassed me and your family and you will not do it again. Is that understood?”

Protectiveness welled in Merlin and he wanted, so very much, to step between the two of them. He could see each word, each condemnation, piling in on Arthur and pushing him down and Merlin had to restrain his shaking least he do something drastic that he could not explain. He stood rigid and watched Uther Pendragon diminish his son into nothing, like it was his every right to destroy anything that displeased him. Then watched the man leave, a twisted rotten feeling deep in his gut telling him he should have done something, something more, something helpful, anything.

He couldn’t move. Stuck. And it wasn’t until Arthur let out a gust of breath (not quite a sigh, something harsher) that Merlin felt his limbs return to his control. “And that’s why I don’t talk about my father.” He smiled mirthlessly and Merlin nodded automatically, tried to think of something placating to say, but found nothing to offer.

“Are we going now?” He finally managed to ask, no sure if it was the wrong this to ask, but any love he had for the place was crushed and destroyed. Apparently Arthur agreed, because he nodded.

“I’ll get my things.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review / comment! I need all the inspiration I can get to finish this by April. Else it gets put on the back-burner for longer still... you don't want that right? So REVIEW! :)


	23. Discussions

Home was comfortable and completely gun free, and Merlin luxuriated in it for the thirty minutes he had before his shift started. In other words he had a shower, found his cleanest clothes for himself, and threw the mass of dirty clothes into the washing so that he wouldn’t have such a struggle next time.

He checked on his phone (in a draw in his bedroom where he’d tucked it away out of sight) and noted the missed calls and messages, but did not deal with them. Another day would hardly hurt them. Then he left for work, because he was actually going to be late anyway.

Work was dead, completely dead. He wasn’t sure why no-one came in, but it happened some nights. Mark (his co-worker for the night) fell asleep at one of the tables and Merlin was happy to stay busy all night, besides which he felt bad for having skipped so many shifts. It was obvious the rest of the workers had been forced to pick up the slack. Mark hadn’t even said anything about it, just asked if he could have a nap, Merlin had let him.

When their shift was almost over Merlin felt overtired and strained. But was glad to be done. He walked home through the predawn streets, his feet echoed on dry pavements and his brain looped down dark paths he did not want to even consider. When he finally got home, the doors opening before he got to them and closing behind him, he was glad to bury himself in his bed and let unconsciousness steal him away once more.

 

Knocking on his door woke him up the next day, and Merlin struggled to ignore it. But the “Merlin, wake up!” that travelled very clearly through the flimsy door was persistent and once he’d seen a clock (6pm, he’d been asleep for eleven hours) he decided to let the man into his house.

Arthur was not alone. Nor was he surrounded by knights.

“Where are they?” Merlin grumbled, trying to peer past Arthur and the stranger (carrying something very large) into the stairwell.

“They’re getting a dressing down from my father for being lax in their duties.” Arthur motioned Merlin aside, and out of automatic politeness Merlin stepped back to let the stranger and the very large box past him and into his apartment. He blinked after the stranger in tired confusion before turning the question to Arthur. Arthur, waiting on the threshold of the apartment seemed to take a moment to cotton on (as if it should have been obvious to Merlin why a stranger was carrying things into his house). “Your TV.” Arthur insisted.

“What?” Merlin, in his defence, was very tired.

“Can I come in?” Arthur changed tact. Merlin blinked and looked down, only noticing now that Arthur had not even stepped a toe over the doors boundary.

“Of course?” Merlin shook his head at the oddity of the man and stumbled off to find himself some tea. He needed tea to be awake this... early. Behind him he heard the door shut. Merlin assumed Arthur was on the apartment side of it, and walked past the stranger in his lounge room until he’d found his kettle. By the time he’d filled it and clicked it on, Merlins brain was started to catch up. Arthur was in the door to the lounge room though, so Merlin couldn’t double check what he suspected was happening.

“Did that man bring me a new TV?”

“I said I’d get you one.” Arthur defended, arms crossed and leaning against the doorjamb.

“I said I’d by Gwaine a yacht.” Merlin reasoned. Considered that idea then squinted at Arthur distrustfully, “Will you get me a yacht?”

“Don’t be ridiculous Merlin.” Arthur derided, then quirked a grin, “It wouldn’t fit in your apartment.”

Still a little tired Merlin took a moment to realise he was being teased. The realisation allowed him to relax. “But the TV fits?” He really wanted to see what was happening, but Arthur seemed content to trap him in the kitchen (Merlin knew he could push past the man, but wasn’t sure he was up for it, not when the tea was still boiling).

The kettle clicked off, and Merlin got down a mug, glanced at Arthur (who shook his head with an expression of repulsion - what was wrong with tea?), then tried again to see the stranger. Again the wall between them yielded no answer so Merlin made just the one mug for himself while he tried to fire up the neurons needed to deal with Arthur.

“Why are you here?”

Arthur scoffed, “I brought you a TV, isn’t that a good enough reason?”

Merlin felt immediately contrite, “Yes, yes of course.” Merlin lent against the counter, drinking his tea absently. “But why?”

“Because you said yours was broken.” Arthur seemed as confused by Merlins confusion as Merlin was by the whole situation.

Merlin considered (pretty much all he was up for less than ten minutes after waking up after a long shift), he wasn’t sure how he felt about being given a TV. It seemed excessive and he wasn’t sure how to replay someone for something that big. But he also didn’t think Arthur, arms folded, body tense, was going to let him return the gift. “Did you get me Skye?”

“No.” Arthur snorted.

“Why?” Merlin mock whined.

“When you asked for that you were just being greedy.” Arthur dismissed.

“Not like you can’t afford it.” Merlin countered just as quickly.

“Well I don’t want to spoil you.” Arthur scratched one of his arms and let them drop down. He then lent back to look into the lounge room. “Is this going to take long?” He asked the stranger.

“Why?” Merlin checked, “Do you have places to be?” If so, why had he come at all, but Arthur shook his head, turning back to Merlin.

“I brought a movie over-”

“If it’s Monty Python I’ll kill you.” Merlin grumbled before the comment had filtered through his semi-conscious thoughts. It caused two things to happen; it caused him to remember the numerous times Will had brought the damn movie over and forced Merlin to watch it (mockery included) and it made Arthur frown.

“You really need to get out more.” Arthur’s mouth twisted as he turned his attention back to the installer. “Well?” He asked (rather politely despite his sour expression).

“An hour, tops.” The man’s reply was muffled by the wall but Merlin heard it well enough.

“Right.” Arthur shrugged, “Let’s go get some food.”

Merlin snorted, and explained at Arthurs confused look, “You want me to leave a complete stranger in my house?”

“Merlin,” Arthur drawled, sounding a bit bored, “what is he going to steal?” Well... that was true but-

“Are you suggesting I don’t have anything worth stealing?” Merlin demanded, following Arthur out past the lounge room towards the exit.

“It’s hardly a suggestion, Merlin. I’ve seen people on the street with better furniture.” Arthur was doing his upmost to look serious. Merlin was doing his best not to laugh at the expression.

“They probably stole it. When left alone in some idiots house.”

 

Despite his feelings about the furniture, Arthur had no troubles sprawling out across it while Merlin was left to stretch himself out on the floor. Apparently they were watching horrible science fiction action movies. Merlin wasn’t sure he cared for it much, but it was nice to shut his brain off for a few seconds and give it something else to stare at.

Merlin felt no compunctions about talking through it though.

“Why is your father telling your men off?”

“Hmm, oh?” Arthur spared him a glance, curious but not dismissive. “He pays them to babysit me.”

“Your men?” Merlin checked.

“Yes.” Which Arthur said with the long suffering air of a man who thought he’d been wronged. “He used to pay other people, but I ahh… I made it hard for them.”

“You?” Merlin feigned shock, “I can’t see it.” and received a pillow in the back of his head for the effort.

“I was a bit unruly in my early teens.” Arthur admitted, with no hint of shame.

“And then you joined the army.” Merlin supplied, even if he couldn’t see Arthur being particularly unruly. Making it hard for someone to follow him around, yes, but unruly? It didn’t quite fit.

“Then I joined the army.” Arthur shrugged at this, as if it was a given, then grinned. “And I got a whole lot harder to follow. So he picked a few men out of my unit and paid them to shadow me when we’re not on duty. They get the extra pay, and father knows I wont intentionally get them in trouble by loosing them.”

“That’s a bit risky. Dividing the loyalties of your men-“

“I said as much. His reply was; ‘All men’s loyalties are divided, Arthur. You cannot use that as an excuse for your failures.’ Whatever that meant.” Arthur may have snorted in derision but it was clear something in the encounter had hurt him. Before Merlin could think of anything solicitous to say Arthur had pushed on. “What about you?”

“Me?” Merlin looked back onto the lounge and met the look of curiosity on his friends face. “What about me?”

“Where’s your mum?” Arthur sat up to see Merlin more clearly.

“She waited until the day I turned 18, told me I had to make her proud, then moved to Wales and married a man I’ve never met.” He waved to the west absently.

“Just like that?” Arthur sounded doubtful.

“She was on a train in less than twenty four hours and married by the end of the week.” Merlin shrugged. “I guess she felt it was time we went our separate ways.”

“That’s…” Arthur struggled, the same way many people did. They could never really appreciate how out of the blue it had been (Will had always understood, but he’d been just as blown away as Merlin) but there was something about the story that bothered people.

“Well, she’d done enough for me.” Merlin dismissed, feeling a sudden wave of guilt for making his mother seem imperfect in Arthurs eyes. It had been the right choice, they’d both known it, and it wasn’t fair of him to let people think he faulted her for it. “Besides, she still calls sometimes and if I ever get enough money together I’ll go down there and meet my step-father.”

“Do you actually want to?” Was asked cautiously and Merlin knew he had to answer honestly. The man had just gotten him a TV, there was every chance he’d go and buy Merlin a train ticket to some little town in the middle of Wales if Merlin wasn’t honest with him.

“No. I’m glad she’s happy, and I’ll see her one day, but for now this is my life. This is what’s important.” He shrugged, because in many ways he didn’t want to see her again. Like he’d closed the door on that part of his life, for now.

“Me?”

“Prat.” Merlin countered affably, unwilling to broach the implied topic. He’d handed that right over to Arthur and it was Arthur alone who had to face it. Merlin still wasn’t sure what had inspired the man to overlook obvious insanity, but he was thankful for it, and not stupid enough to spit at it.

“What did Will think of it, of all of it?” Arthur was looking at the roof, like it held a secret meaning only he could fathom.

The question hurt, of course it hurt, but Merlin gave it it’s due. He would not ignore any attempts on Arthurs part to understand this. “Will… I think he was afraid of it.” Merlin closed his eyes, pulling up the image of his friend in those harder to define moments, when things hadn’t been easy and friendly between them. “He never said as much, but I think he didn’t want to believe it.”

“Why?”

Merlin shrugged, “I don’t know.” and looked back at Arthur trying a smile out. “My third Arthur, when I met him, I wanted him to be you so much I convinced myself he was. I didn’t-“ Merlin struggled remembering that year. He hadn’t done anything terrible, he hadn’t robbed banks or killed people, but- “I wasn’t my best around him.” They had fought a lot that year.

“Your first love?” Arthur’s voice was tight, but there was teasing there. Merlin politely ignored the strain, he knew what this was costing Arthur.

“What? No. My first love was Ginger Melanie.” He sighed with memory. “She was lovely.” With a grimace he added; “She also tried to kiss me.”

“You can’t even handle kissing girls?” Arthur had cracked out a grin for this.

“I was nine! It was disgusting.” Even Will had been empathetic about the horrifying experience. He’d also been diagnosed (by one of the other classmates) with cooties. Arthur snorted at his plight none-the-less but instead of arguing Merlin let them slide into companionable silence. The movie kept playing, but Merlin was pretty sure that all the crew of the ship should have died some scenes before and the story had been stretched beyond feasibility.

Merlin wasn’t aware that Arthur was stewing over anything until he glanced back (it was a compulsion, he didn’t like to think on it) to check on the man. Arthur, it seemed, had been spending the silence to consider him.

“What?” Merlin demanded defensively.

“You said ‘third’ Arthur.”

Shit.

“Merlin, what number am I?”

Shit. He may as well have spelled out obsession and stamped it across his forehead for the other man to see. As if it hadn’t already been obvious, this would probably tip that scale.

“I thought you didn’t want to talk about it.” Merlin defended, as confrontationally as he could. Bitter he sneered, “I thought we were pretending it hadn’t happened. And I’m not crazy.”

“Maybe,” Arthur was tentative, but he would not look away. Merlin found himself unable to either, enscrolled even though that wasn’t in Arthurs power. “I like knowing your not going to leave me. Even if it’s for the wrong reasons.”

Bitter Merlin turned away from Arthur, letting his head thump back onto the couch cushions by Arthurs legs. “You don’t want to know, Arthur. You don’t want to know how many times I tried and failed to find you. You don’t even want to know any of this, you made that clear.”

“I don’t want to know anything else-“

“Even though there are things I could tell you that might change your mind?” Merlins magic sparked, as aware as he was of the potential for confrontation.

“Defiantly don’t want to know.” Arthur countered quickly, cutting off Merlin before he could go into a tirade. “But I do want to know what number I am. Because you- you keep track of that sort of thing, don’t you?”

Merlin couldn’t deny it, but nor did he want to deal with this. He wanted Arthur to ask about the important things, the things that would happen, the things he knew and didn’t know. Merlin did not want to deal with this. “Well I don’t want to tell you.” He sounded harsher than he meant to but pushed on. “Isn’t it bad enough you think I’m crazy? Why should I give you any more than that?” Merlin thought about Will, who had, despite his doubts, never told Merlin to stop talking about it. Lancelot who had believed him with no proof whatsoever. Leon who knew. And Gwaine who maybe knew but would never confront him with it. “Gwaine wouldn’t think I’m crazy.”

“Gwaines hardly your best yard stick. He’s got more Post Traumatic Stress on him than sense.” Arthur dismissed, but Merlin was caught.

“What?” He’d known Gwaine had issues. He’d thought the man was bordering on alcoholic (maybe even having plunged off into that pool a long time ago), but Gwaine seemed so capable of normal interaction Merlin had never even considered-

“Are you oblivious to everything around you?” Arthur seemed as incredulous as he was amazed. “Gwaine was given an honourable discharged from military service after they dragged him out of Afghanistan. They’re going to give him the Conspicuous Gallantry Cross. It was on the news. Every day. For about a month.” Arthur was scowling at him, and Merlin felt unfairly chastised.

“Why?” He was curious, not sure how he could have missed something like that if it had been that prominently in the news. He hadn’t been keeping up lately, following Arthur around more than anything else, but he had met Gwaine before then, which meant it had to have been in the news before then.

“Because the media like a hero. And there’s nothing more heroic than suffering to protect others.” Arthur sneered it, not derisive of Gwaine, but the media. Merlin appreciated being able to see the distinction.

“He did something stupid didn’t he?” Merlin considered the man. Gwaine threw himself into the things he did absolutely. Drinking, sex, friendship. Merlin didn’t think the man could give anything but his absolute, and it was an admirable quality. But in a war zone, doing something heroic and noble, giving everything… it was a terrifying idea.

“He did…” Arthur considered “…an impressive thing, and he paid for it.” He made a noise of annoyance, “I thought you watched the news.” Which was actually as much an accusation as it was a delaying tactic. Merlin really wished he’d watched news more closely than he apparently had.

“I watch the news… sometimes.” He felt sheepish.

“How do you watch the news and not hear about these things? It’s not possible Merlin!” Arthur paused the movie, attention already completely divided.

“I only pay attention to the important parts! I have other things to do too!” Merlin defended, wondering how you explained to someone the way he divided the news into important and not important. How sometimes he studied while he watched it and if it wasn’t important he didn’t pay attention. Hell he didn’t even know Gwaines last name, for all he knew Gwaines had only been addressed by his last name (he was fairly sure that’s how the army worked). If they’d said ‘Gwaine’ Merlin would have been paying attention. It was an unusual name after all.

“Like reading up on- what is this?” Arthur had his hand on a pile of papers by the lounge, and he picked up the top sheaf, scribbled over in blue pen and looking harmless enough. Merlin regretted leaving it out immediately. “Ancient-“ Arthur squinted at the writing then lowered it to glare at Merlin. “This is Arthurian isn’t it?”

“What do you think?” Merlin demanded and snatched the papers back. He still hadn’t gotten around to deciphering that stupid word but it didn’t mean he had given up.

“I think it’s unhealthy.” Arthur replied in a level voice.

“Fine.” Merlin snapped, throwing the pages across the room, they missed the TV, barely, and fluttered to the ground in a messed up but stapled pile. “Lets talk about why some guys felt it was okay to attack me with semi-automatic weapons-“

“They were assault rifles, Merlin.” The correction was automatic.

“Oh, that makes all the difference.” Merlin glared.

“I was just-“ Arthur struggled for a moment then something seemed to occur to him and his shouldered settled down, ready. “Okay. Fine. Lets talk about that.” Then settled into silence. Arthur was waiting for questions to answer, but apparently Merlin was not going to ask anything else. Arthur was a little annoyed by that, questions would have been easy to deal with, a blanket statement was always harder. He decided to start with something board. “Someone tried to poison everyone at the engagement party.”

“I got that.” Merlin was frowning, his arms up in a petulant fold and he was frowning with concentration. “What I didn’t get was why they’d try and kill everyone.”

“Psychos are psychos, Merlin.” Arthur replied with long suffering tolerance.

“And why-“ Merlin continued unwilling to be bullied, “-it resulted in me being assaulted by a quartet of very scary trigger happy soldiers.”

“That’s… harder to explain.” Arthur gestured vaguely. “My cousin-“

“The once removed one?” Merlin still wasn’t over that. He wondered absently if Morgana counted as once removed, he’d have to ask about that.

“Yes. My cousin is getting married, and it’s a-“ Arthur cringed, and Merlin knew this wasn’t going to be good. He hadn’t seen that sort of expression before. “It’s a royal wedding.”

Merlin blanked, “What?”

“Well-“ Arthur cringed again, “the royal family are involved.”

“What?”

Exasperated with Merlins lack of comprehension, Arthur continued, “So the Queen was there.”

“What?! Wait! Someone tried to kill the queen?”

“Which probably shouldn’t be shouted that loud, Merlin!” Arthur snapped right back, shoulders hunching down against the potential outbreak of information. He did not like to cause a scene anymore, he had gotten over that in his younger years (okay he wasn’t that old, but he sure as hell felt that old sometimes). He did not want to be the source of the kind of rumours that telling a kingdom someone had attacked their queen would cause. “Jesus.” Arthur reprimanded, ignoring Merlins gaping expression and the fact that he should have expected that kind of response. Logic hardly played a part in any of his expectations around Merlin anyway. “So,” he continued on valiantly, “when Lord John got into his cups early and keeled over before anyone else had touched the stupid champagne the royal guard-“

“The royal guard.” Merlin parroted, apparently still broken.

“-got a little over zealous.” Arthur ploughed on with determination. There probably wasn’t an easy way to deliver any of this anyway.

“They thought I’d tried to poison the Queen?” Merlin double checked, and yes, okay Merlin was pretty sure that kind of response would be warranted if he had tried to kill the Queen. He didn’t much care about the royal family, they were superfluous to his destiny, a hurdle that would have to be addressed when destiny became more clear, but even he knew you didn’t try to kill the Queen without repercussions.

“And one of her grandchildren.” Arthur added, just because clarity was good.

“Just who the hell is your cousin marrying?” Merlin demanded, and Arthur became aware that Merlin had encroached on his space on the lounge. He did not mind one bit.

“My cousin-“ Arthur stared back into shocked blue eyes and let the tension slide out of him. He sighed. “You don’t even known the royal family, Merlin, what does it matter?”

“I know the royal family!” Merlin protested, as if someone had questioned something basic and simple.

“Name eight of the royal family.” Arthur countered.

“We covered it in school!” Merlin was pouting, and he wasn’t so close again, having sat back as his brain milled over the challenge. Arthur waited, bemused and curious.

“Name eight living members of the royal family.” He reissued.

“Charles, Carmila-“

Arthur stopped him short. “Of the blood line, Merlin.”

Merlin wets his lips as he went over names in his head. He was at six, he was sure they were all real people, but there weren’t two more names to follow through with. “They don’t matter.” He defended. Because he had never made a habit of hiding his lack of attention for things that didn’t matter.

Arthur snorted. “Exactly.”

And even though Merlin was pretty sure Arthur was agreeing for different reasons the conversation drifted away from the topic. Merlin knew he should have asked more questions about royal guards, and semi-automatic machine guns, but they really didn’t matter. So long as Arthur was fine, and he was fine, and things stayed that way. Nothing else mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment. Even just a smiley face. I find it hard to believe that less than one percent of readers review. That's just... depressing and silly.


	24. Packing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cracked 70k words! And I didn't edit. I'm sure you'll all survive. You've managed this far.

Merlin clicked through his e-mails listlessly. His mother had written again, someone wanted his bank account details (a fat load of good it would do them), and there was a high school reunion in a few weeks. He stared at the reunion letter, unmoved by the contents but knowing it had only gotten to him because of Will.

Somewhere along the lines Will had snuck his information to their ex-schoolmates and normally Merlin would have shoved Will aside and told him there wasn’t a chance in hell of him going (then gone anyway because Will had an uncanny knack for getting him to go places). But there was no Will, and there was still an invitation. And Merlin knew Will kept in touch with them all via Facebook, and e-mail, and he realised that they needed to be told. Someone needed to tell them. Because Will had more than one friend when he died, and it wasn’t fair of Merlin if he didn’t give them the chance to mourn.

He stared at his blank reply, horrified when he couldn’t get himself to type out what needed to be said. Unable to make it real in one more part of his reality, one more unmoveable truth supporting the fact. He knew it was silly, but he snapped the laptop shut and didn’t tell any of them. He added that to his new list, the list of things that needed to be done for Will. Things he owed his friend that he could not ignore forever. It was a list that had started to build very quickly once Arthur wasn’t there to distract him. Merlin was glad for the time to organise his thoughts, even if they were unpleasant.

He turned away from that duty and turned to the next; his mobile phone. He hadn’t touched it. Like some tainted disease that needed quarantine he’d left it untouched and unchecked. Now he flipped it open and checked the voicemail. None from Will, that was a start. But there were two from Will’s dorm president because Merlin was Wills secondary contact and Will had been missing classes. One from Gwaine, drunk, very drunk, and with shaking hands Merlin stopped it midway and saved it, like the e-mail, to deal with later.

He called the dorm president back, but there was no answer. He stared at the mobile in his hand, and the laptop on his table and could think of nothing else that needed to be done more pressingly. The e-mail, honest Gwaine, or Will’s university rooms. He picked the lesser of three evils and found his keys (he had Will’s spares on his keychain just as Will had always had his).

Lancelot was on the other side of the door when Merlin opened it. Both were surprised by the meeting and something in the hallway apologised to Merlin for not having given forward notification. He shushed it and forced a smile for Lancelot.

“You’re going out, I see.” Lancelot stepped aside, letting Merlin leave the apartment, but Merlin hesitated.

“I have to pack Wills dorm rooms. Do you need to come in?” Merlin was ready to step back, let Lancelot in and deal with it, but Lancelot shook his head.

“I could come with you, if it’s not an imposition.” It was an honest request and Merlin did it the service of considering it properly. He wanted to sort this out, as quickly as possible, but he didn’t want to drag anyone into it with him. Lancelot though, had been with him from the start.

“It shouldn’t take long. Most his stuff is in my wardrobes anyway.” Because dorms made you take your stuff home for the holidays and it was easier to put all his parents relics in boxes and push them back into wardrobes to be forgotten. He paid the extra rent during the holidays when he had nowhere else to stay. Or he had.

 

He’d kept his head down the entire walk from the parking lot (Lancelot had a car and had insisted they drive) to Will’s room. There had been an incident when Will and he had been in first year where Merlin had managed to set fire to a tree in the college court yard, then one where he’d flooded one of the bathrooms (he wasn’t sure how he’d done that in all honesty), and that time he’d gotten angry with a guy trying to bully Will and everything in his rooms had disappeared without a trace. They’d been unable to prove anything and thus they’d been unable to ban him from the college entirely, but to say he was known… well it would be an understatement. And Merlin did not want to be known today.

At his side Lancelot kept pace, but made no comment when they snuck past the sign in desk (Merlin had everything to do with the people behind the counter all looking away at the right time, and was proud of it). Merlin wasn’t sure why Lancelot was with him, but he wasn’t going to rebuff the help. He didn’t think, even for a moment, that this was going to be easy and Merlin couldn’t shake the feeling of absolute trust that Lancelot had won during their first meeting.

They made it to the door before Merlin felt the first vestiges of real doubt that he could do this. It was accompanied by the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach that felt like a tightly coiled ball ready to explode.

“Do you want me to-?” Lancelot motioned to the door, and the key Merlin had raised half way to the lock before freezing.

“Should I- I should write it on his door.” Merlin stared at the stupid white board all the other doors had. Wills had fives messages on it, something about class notes, something about a date (Merlin hadn’t even known he had a new girlfriend), and in the middle, innocent and oblivious ‘Where are you?’. Merlin knew he should wipe it clean and tell anyone who wanted to read it. But it seemed to unofficial. 

“Maybe when we leave we can tell the office. They’ll handle it.” Lancelot soothed.

Merlin jerked his attention to the other man and was struck with that same absolute trust and thankfulness that his entire association with the knight had inspired. Lancelot was steady, strong, and he said all the right things. It was hard to imagine this man as anything like the wife stealing adulterer he was painted out to be in all the texts. You know… the ones that even had Lancelot in them.

“Are you ready for this, Merlin?”

“No.” Merlin smiled sadly but opened the door anyway.

It was a blow to the chest, a physical sensation of pain that assaulted him when he stepped into the perfectly normal room. He hadn’t thought about it, hadn’t allowed himself to, but nothing had changed and it seemed _wrong_.

“Okay.” Merlin nodded unthinkingly, staring at all the signs of _life_ that no longer applied to this world. “Okay.” He closed his eyes and took a controlled breath.

“I’m right here, Merlin. I’m not going anywhere.”

And Merlin was incredibly thankful for his friends company because he could not do this on his own.

“Okay.” He said once more, stealing himself and pushing emotion away, deep down where they couldn’t hurt as much. Not today at least.

 

Lancelot was his saving grace. After the first two meltdowns about random trinkets in the room (why the hell had Will kept that stupid clay statue of he-man?) they made quick progress and had most of Will’s things in bags and boxes to take to the car. Merlin didn’t want to sort them out right now, or ever, and had every intention of shoving them all to the back of his cupboard for another day. A day when it didn’t hurt so much to look at it all.

They were sitting down, amidst the melee of dust and scarps of paper. Lancelot had fetched them some drinks from a drink machine down the corridor (he had offered to get lunch but Merlin didn’t want to be in the room any longer than he had to be so they’d settled for drinks).

“I keep blanking, Lance. I keep thinking he’s going to come back, but he’s gone. Hell, he’s been gone for nearly two weeks.” Merlin frowned, adding the days up together. He could remember the exact day Will had died, but the days following it were blurred together. “Has it only been two weeks?” He looked to Lancelot.

“Closer to three now,” Lancelot closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When they opened there was a level of determination there that captured Merlin and held him. “I need to discuss something with you Merlin.”

“Okay.” Merlin felt tentative, his heart rate racketed with trepidation.

“It’s why I came over today.”

Merlin set his drink down on the carpet, watching Lancelot cautiously. “Okay.” The knight smiled at him, appreciating his attention, but it was a painful smile, the kind of smile a man who is about to unwillingly inflict pain gives. Merlin didn’t know if he could handle this, but he knew he had no choice.

“Usually, by now, there would have been a funeral for Will.”

Merlin blinked slowly, processing the statement. He stared back at Lancelot and the man met his eyes with those perfectly calm ones. He blinked again, he couldn't feel his limbs, something was wrong. His fists clenched and held, his teeth started to hurt, his back straightened out and ram rod straight. His jaw is clenched, hard and he can’t open it to demand an answer. There is something very wrong here, now it’s been brought to his attention he knows it’s wrong. Funerals happened within the fortnight, usually in a week of death. How hadn’t he noticed this?

Lancelot pressed forwards careful but determined, “My friends and I, at the station, have been trying to arrange Wills funeral for you. But they will not release Will’s body so it can not be finalised.”

“What?!” Merlin growls out between his teeth, magic flaring up and around him in a whir of anger. Lancelot does not flinch.

“We have tried every avenue to be thought of, but they will not talk to any but the next of kin. Of which he has none have.”

“I’m his family.” Merlin ground out.

“I know, friend. That is why I have told you.” Lancelot soothed.

“Do you have the number?” Merlin rose, careful to keep his magic in tight around him, rather than lashing out at Lancelot who did not deserve it. Lancelot pulled a card from his wallet and handed it over.

“This is the direct line to the person in charge of the investigation. It took many phone calls to get that number.” 

Merlin glared at the card, and even though he wanted to do this now, he didn’t want to do it here. He shoved it into his pocket.

“Lets finish this first. I’ll call them when I get home.” When he wasn’t staring at the remnants of his lost friend, when maybe he could think clearly again.

 

Lancelot had taken the task of putting the boxes of Will’s things away. Merlin was glad, because he couldn’t focus on anything but the weight of that phone number in his pocket. He’d managed to pack the rest of Will’s things, but he had no idea what any of it was anymore. It had all been superseded by the knowledge that his friend, his brother in all but name, wasn’t being paid the respect he deserved to have paid him.

Merlin stared at the phone in his lap, taking controlling breaths that did nothing but make him feel the rush of air as it pooled inside him then wafted out again. The room was agitated, aware of him and his thoughts. Empathetic to him.

Lancelot slipped out the front door again (it opened for him easily, keys apparently a thing of the past now), and Merlin knew he had to make this phone call. He dialled carefully, sure of each number before punching it in and with each number he felt his anger rise another notch. He should not be having to do this. There was no reason for this to be happening, and he’d had enough of things with no reason.

The phone was answered almost immediately by a woman. She was brisk and professional, and she gave a job title that Merlin honestly couldn’t understand. He understood when she stopped talking though, understood it was his chance to say something.

Resolutely he curled his anger in away from the surface, let it and the magic trickle over his skin in a cold fury rather than release it and risk the room and people around him.

“How can I help you?” The woman repeated, a hint of annoyance in her tone this time. Merlin didn’t give a damn.

“My name is Merlin Benton and I am William Jones’ brother.” His voice was horribly steady, more steady than it ever was when he made a phone call. He knew it was a bad sign. The woman did not.

There was a pause, the woman taking stock, a few clicks of buttons, and Merlin listened to it all silently, waiting.

“William Jones doesn’t have any family on record, Mr Benton.” She replied after the protracted silence. “If you are a member of the press I recommend-“

“I’m sorry, what’s your name again?” Merlin interrupted harshly, not willing to be brushed aside so quickly.

“Chief Inspector Linda Jay.”

“Well, Linda,” She tried to interrupt, but Merlin pushed on, “my best friend, whom I was raised along side of. My best friend, who my mother took in on the days when his father was too drunk to remember that beatings didn’t solve everything. My best friend, who is _dead_ , do you understand? _Dead_. Who died in the most horrifying of circumstances-” Merlin hissed. “He needs to be buried, he deserves to be buried, and I’m told you wont give me his body.”

She did hesitate, but not for long, “I can only discuss this with direct family-“

“I’m his family!” Merlin lost control, the magic snapped out as his voice erupted. Everything near him was shoved away in a pulse of pure violent magic. Merlin wanted to shout again, to rage, but he forced the calm again, breathing deep through his nose. “I’m his family.” Merlin repeated forcefully, the anger could not be ignored completely. “I’m his only family. If you bothered to look into it you would have seen as much. I’m his emergency contact on every form his filled out since he turned fifteen. And I want to bury him.” His voice cracked, “Do you understand?”

“I understand, Mr. Benton.” And it sounded like he was bring reprimanded of all things, but he would not be cowed and feel guilty, not about this. “And I will look into this-“

“Now.” Merlin ordered. He tried to push his magic into the command, tried to make it an imperative, but it didn’t want to behave like that and it crackled but did not obey.

“I have the files here, Mr. Benton, but it will take me a few minutes.” She tried to wheedle.

“I’ll wait.” Merlin closed his eyes and drew another breath, trying to stay calm. It wasn’t her fault, and he tried to remind himself of that. He couldn’t help it though, “If you have his records you should have known about me already.” He reprimanded.

“The department has been very busy since the incident. If what your saying is true than I’m sorry no-one has gotten in contact with you sooner but we have been working as fast as we can on this case.” She was trying to placate him, Merlin wished it would work, but he only felt resentment towards this woman. “If he had a left a will and testament it would have made things much easier.”

“We’re twenty-one. Why the hell would he need that?”

“I should think that’s obvious now.” She replied, dry and unpleasant, but she was still tapping at her keyboard and Merlin listened to that instead of letting her tone get to him. She made a humming noise, typed a bit more than sighed. “Yes, okay, I can see your name on multiple documents related to the deceased. If you would like to come in-“

“No.” Merlin countered, “We’ll do this now.” He ordered again, again the magic could not fathom the command given to it. Merlin wanted one of those words, the ones that did things, but he couldn’t think of the right one, and phone lines… he wasn’t even sure what that would do to magic (did technology even affect such things?).

“I need proof that you are Merlin Benton. This is a high profile case and information has been classified-“

“High profile?” Merlin felt incredulous, “What the hell does that mean?”

There was a pause, on her part, a moment of indecision. “Mr. Benton, the loss of your friend is a horrible tragedy, but the fact remains that the suspicious nature of this fire must be thoroughly examined before bodies can be released to their families.” It was a practiced speech, worn and ready.

“Nobody cares this much about people in a club. Why do you need the bodies? You know how they died already, you don’t need them.” It made no sense.

“Mr. Benton, it is a matter of national security. Therefore we can not give up potential evidence until we are certain there is nothing to be learnt from-“

“National-“ He faltered then realised exactly what she’d said; “Evidence?” Merlin demanded. “How is my friends dead body evidence?!”

“I know this is hard-“

“You don’t know shit!” Merlin snapped. “I want him back, your bureaucratic garbage be damned. I want my best friend back!”

“Sir, I’m sorry for your loss, and I’m sorry that I can’t give you what you want right now. When the investigation is complete you will be the first person informed. I’ve marked you as Williams next of kin, and you will be contacted. But I will tell you,” she added, sounding less sure, “that the investigation could take several months before it’s complete.”

“Why?” Merlin’s voice cracked again, the pleading far too obvious, but it did the trick.

“I know this is difficult, but you must understand that an investigation into the deaths of thirty seven British subjects and one of their Princesses can not be rushed. Now I’m sorry, I’ve done what I can for you over the phone and I assure you, you will be contacted if circumstances changes. But I have to-“

“Princesses?” Merlin repeated dumbly, confusion overclouding his anger. “The girl who was stabbed at her school? What does she have to do with anything?”

“I…” The woman hesitated again, tongue tied, “Princess Eugenie d’York was one of the patrons at the club on the night of the fire.”

“I-“ Merlin’s brain blanked. “I need to watch the news.” He realised. “But I watched the news.” Again he blanked, he was sure he’d watched it.

“Her name was not released immediately, as per her family’s wishes. Mr. Benton, I need to return to my work.”

“Your investigation.”

“Yes.”

“Into the murder of one of the royal princesses.”

“I did not say that.” She countered.

“Of course you didn’t.” Merlin felt numb. “No of course you didn’t. Thank you.” He hit end absently, dropping the phone into his lap, and stared at the wall. Will was dead. Will was dead because someone had tried, and succeeded in killing a princess. That was two. Two princesses dead. And someone had tried to kill the queen.

Merlins brain whirled with the possibilities, the things that were just out of reach and the things lying directly in front of him. He strained to understand what his numb brain didn’t want to comprehend and it took time. Time for each little piece (there were only three really) of the puzzle to slot together and when the realisation came he wondered how he hadn’t noticed it. Surely the press had- or they would if they found out about the poisoning.

He glanced up, Lancelot was on the floor, watching him, careful and courteous. “Someone’s killing off the royal family.” Merlin told him, blunt and absolute. Merlin looked away before Lancelot could react. “But why? I- I need to watch the news.” Resolute Merlin flicked to the 24hrs news channel. This was important, too important to ignore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Dances* This scene was threatening to devolve into all sorts of angst. I fought it hard. This scene also didn’t want to go anywhere I wanted it to. I was vallient and I won. Screw you story, don’t tell me what to do!
> 
> Also I finally gave a solid name for a royal! Look at me advancing along happily. (This is what reviews do to me.)
> 
> Please review.


	25. Research

It wasn’t that the royal family was under attack that worried Merlin, because he was the most unpatriotic of all the British citizens in that he didn’t care about the royal family at all. He knew, eventually, something would have to be done with them, after all you can’t put a man on a throne when someone else already has it.

He’d spent a lot of time considering the possibilities when he was younger, but the quest to _find_ Arthur had taken precedence over the many fancy’s he’d conjured up. After all, none of it was relevant if he couldn’t find Arthur. But he had Arthur now, sort of, and if he hadn’t spent the last months mooning over the man he might have gotten to this issue sooner.

For all intents and purposes it seemed like someone was doing him a favour. But it wasn’t a favour he had been looking for, and it was one thing to think they needed to go, but quite another to turn the news on and see a barrage of flowers across the gates of Buckingham Palace.

“Why do they lay flowers there? She lived on her own estate.” Lancelot sounded almost annoyed.

“They always do that. They did it for the other one as well.” Merlin dismissed. He was sick of this channel, it was doing the same read out every five minutes, and they had nothing to add to any of it yet.

All they knew was the fire had killed thirty seven people and one princess, she’d been there on a whim, upstairs in the private part of the club. The part that had been blocked off entirely. No-one on that floor survived. The news hadn’t even connected the two royal murders (no that they knew yet that this second was a murder – that was all assumption). They’d mentioned the other girl, mourning the second tragedy to hit the royal family so recently, but they hadn’t connected it. Maybe knowing about a poisoning attempt made it a bit easier to see, but Merlin couldn’t unsee it.

“Anyone else die recently?” Lancelot gave him a look, which Merlin didn’t need explained. “I mean, any other royals?” Merlin clarified, but this time it looked like Lancelot wasn’t sure. He turned his attention to his computer, the TV no longer any use (he left it on anyway).

The lounge wasn’t comfortable enough, so he took the computer to his dinning table, pulling out a note book so he could scribble the details as he went. It made no sense to kill such low ranking royals. Apparently the princess had been sixth in line for the throne, but the little girl? The little girl had been 17th in line, it hardly seemed efficient to anything to kill someone that far down the list if you were trying to do… something. Like everything else, it made no sense. None of it did.

 

Arthur arrived back at Merlins only to have a perplexed Lancelot open the door. For a moment Arthur was surprised, then he pushed that aside, because it was clear these two had formed a friendship and he wasn’t possessive enough to deny Merlin friendships (a part of him wanted to be, but he made himself be reasonable).

“You’re here again, are you?” Arthur walked in past Lancelot. “Why are you here again?” He couldn’t help the demand.

“They haven’t released his friends body.”

“No.” Arthur scowled, “I suppose they wouldn’t.” It was just another thing to rub salt into Merlins wounds. Just another thing to make it harder to readjust (not that Arthur expected the man to get over it that quickly, but there were things that would help).

“Do they think the culprit was amongst those lost?”

“If you were going to burn somewhere down, would you lock yourself in there as well?” Arthur bit back, even if was hoping it was true and the culprit was dead, he wasn’t going to fool himself.

“Arthur.” Merlin acknowledged and when Arthur found him he was in the midst of a pile of papers and books that Arthur was sure he’d never seen before. He went to ask what was happening, but the eye contact Merlin flicked at him was brief and gone immediately.

“Right.” Arthur turned his attention away from what looked to be very official documents (that Arthur was sure Merlin should not have access to) back to Lancelot, who was looking pensive.

“He’s been watching the news.” It was said like an explanation, as if Merlins sudden focus on study could be explained by something as simple as news. Arthur glanced out at the TV and the reel on the Princesses death was playing again. Well wishes, crying mourners, ‘best of’ photos, a list of credits from a short lifetime of being in public eye, the Queen’s statement, and the two princes appeals for calm. All of it in an unending loop. He shuddered to consider the kind of horrible things that would be up there if one of the two Princes themselves had died. The way the nation would be reacting. It did not bear thinking about, so he swapped his attention back to Merlin.

“Have I been on?” Arthur checked with Lancelot (he really didn’t care if Merlin was paying attention, he was so over that point it wasn’t even a consideration anymore), because not everyone could be as dense as Merlin appeared to be. He wasn’t shockingly famous, true, but the press always seemed to hunt out even the most obscure connections when given a chance.

“Were you involved?” Lancelot was surprised.

“No. But…” well that was awkward, “well I was on the news recently,” He gestured bitterly at the TV, “and they do like to dredge everything up when they get the chance.”

“They are some of the worst kind of men.” Lancelot agreed and Arthur liked him a little bit more for that. “We have not spoken properly.” Lancelot observed, then held out his hand formally. “I am Lancelot Degas, friend to your Merlin, it is a pleasure to met you.”

Automatic training had Arthur shaking the proffered hand. “Arthur.” He glanced at Merlin, who wasn’t paying any attention, but didn’t feel secure enough to declare himself Merlins boyfriend – even if he wanted to. Did it count as being someone’s boyfriend when it was such a one-sided romance? He liked to think it did, but logic wasn’t on his side.

“You too-“ Merlin commented from amongst his tower of research, “-are making too much noise.”

“Excuse me?” Arthur scoffed, then was met with a very hard glare from over the screen of a lap top.

“Arthur,” Merlin reprimanded, “someone is systematically killing off the royal family, and I have no idea who. This needs looking into.”

“Why?” Arthur was more confused than annoyed, and it was clear. Merlin had been about to turn back to his books, but the look he levelled over at Arthur instead told him that he should have already known Merlins reasoning. “I mean-“ Arthur tried another attack, “you’re not going to be able to do any better than the investigators already looking into it. And I assure you, people have noticed the connections already.”

Merlin was unrepentant, “I’m don’t want to stop them-“

“Merlin!” Arthur raised his voice, horrified.

“-but I need to know who it is. If you take the throne-“

“You plan to take the throne?” Lancelot asked, and great Arthur just needed that, a witness.

“I’m not taking the throne. Jesus, Merlin.” And Arthur left the kitchen and his crazy almost boyfriend to investigate whatever the hell he wanted to, because he was not going to think about the sort of things that had to be going through the mans head.

He stopped in the lounge room, unsure, this was treading a dangerous line. A very dangerous line right through muddy waters, and dear gods but he shouldn’t be around Merlin. He should not be anywhere near the sort of person who thought it’d be fine if the royal family was killed off, or that thought Arthur himself should be on the throne. But damnit, he liked Merlin.

He liked that Merlin, for all the irony of it, didn’t treat him like anything special. He’d had that with friends before, but never a partner, they always seemed to treat him like something different, for whatever reason. After the initial mishaps (he still couldn’t believe the shit had kicked him out of the house because of his name), he’d been waiting for the crazy man to start treating him differently. But despite his claims of destiny and reincarnation (had he ever used that word? Arthur wasn’t sure now) he’d never treated Arthur like he was something out of the ordinary. Except, perhaps, for that resistance to a relationship Arthur was determined to chip away at. 

There was no denying, either, that he liked the feeling of absolute devotion he felt from Merlin. He’d been worried when he realised _why_ it was there, but there was something shockingly solid and trustworthy about his delusions. Logically Arthur knew he should run, far and fast, but until Merlin started waving swords at him (or actively plotting to kill the royal family) Arthur wasn’t going anywhere.

No. He wasn’t going anywhere.

It was insane, and crazy and it made Arthur feel a little bit more solid now that he knew he was thinking it. The mud was clearer, and although he was still walking that dangerous line he was committed to it. With that decided he moved over to Merlins lounge and changed the channel.

“I’m watching that!” Merlin shouted instantly.

Arthur scoffed, “No you’re not.” And found the Simpsons, which was honestly a much more acceptable thing to watch than the news.

“I was listening!” Merlin protested.

Arthur didn’t want to watch the princesses tributes any more than he had to. It made his stomach twist into knots and threw his attention all left of right, and he didn’t want to feel that right now. When he went home, and left Merlin to his devices, then he’d call up Morgana and they’d be sad together for a while longer. Or she’d snark at him a bit, and then they’d sit in silence and ignore the world beyond the calm of each others distant company.

Resolved with that course of action Arthur thumbed a text to Morgana to inform her that they were having a phone conversation that night then settled in to relax. She’d understand, they had their problems but she was always there for him.

Lancelot, apparently, wasn’t needed in the kitchen either, so he sat on the other cushion. Arthur allowed his eyes to skim a glance at the man. He seemed okay, normal and sane. It was hardly his fault he had the stupidest name this side of ‘Merlin’.

He itched to ask the man what he knew about Merlins ‘destiny’ and what he believed about it, but something in the honest way the man voiced his opinions told Arthur he wouldn’t like it. It was, therefore, best to ignore it for now. Just like everything else. He was becoming very good at ignoring things, especially when they came to Merlin.

In the kitchen Merlin was muttering (probably insane things) and Arthur was happy to turn the TV up louder (just in case it was truly insane) when there was a loud ripping noise followed by a bang. Arthur jumped, about to spring out of his chair to check on Merlin when Lancelot caught his arm to stop him. Instinct nearly had Arthur counterattack, but instead he paused.

“He is merely summoning things again.” _Lancelot_ explained, as if… as if that made any sense. “He has been doing so all afternoon.”

Arthur flicked a glance to the kitchen then to the man holding his arm. He tested his response to this declaration, wet his lips to try and give himself more time to assess it. Apparently Lancelot was in on this (come to think of it Leon had known about it as well, but he’d remained very tight lipped about the whole ordeal every time they’d met up since that revelation), and he was perfectly fine with it.

Great. Just great. Everyone was crazy.

“Right.” Arthur decided to distract himself from that line of thought. “We’re having a picnic tomorrow, I kid you not, you should come.” And now he’d invited another lunatic into his life. It was quite possible he did belong right in their midst.

“A picnic?” Lancelot was reasonably incredulous and Arthur just grinned in reply.

“We’ll the men are calling it a rugby day, but their families are calling it a picnic. We’ll need more people to play a proper game. You should come.” Because actually you got first pickings from the people you invited. That’s how it always went, and Arthur never really had anyone to invite. His friends were his unit. His family… were not invited.

“I’m not coming.” Merlin’s muffled voice declared.

“You don’t have a choice.” Arthur refuted, and clicked the volume down on the TV. He heard the rustle of movement, and then Merlin was glaring at him from the kitchen doorway. Arthur loved that he had the mans absolute attention for the first time that night.

“I’m not invited?” There was a hint of uncertainty in Merlins tone.

“Oh no. You’re coming, you don’t have a choice.” Arthur grinned.

“I’m busy.” Merlin went to return to his work, but Arthur made a grab for the escaping man and yanked him down onto his lap. Merlin sputtered and tried to extract himself.

“Stay.” Arthur ordered, and nearly got a fist in his face for the patronisation.

“I’m busy.” Merlin tried to extract himself. It was possible Lancelot go a fist in his face in the process (he certainly got kicked once or twice), but Arthur didn’t care one bit.

“Looking up dead royals.” Arthur chastised, clinging around Merlins middle with tenacity.

“I’m looking into the anti-royalist factions, if you must know. I’d thought their extreme branch’s were dormant, but maybe there’s been a power change in their ranks.”

Arthur forced breath out between his teeth. _That_ was actually worse than he’d though it would be.

“Now you’re watching the Simpsons with me and your brand new friend Lance.” Arthur countered. Merlin struggled more, but Arthur was actually the stronger of the two, and without that _burn_ that Merlin seemed quite able to produce there was no way Merlin was getting out of this hold. He contented himself with the knowledge that Merlin wasn’t all that desperate to escape after all.

“You follow the anti-royalist movement, Merlin?” Lancelot seemed intrigued. Arthur could have punched him in the face.

“When Arthurs king they’re going to be a problem-“

“Right.” Arthur used his army voice, he was sick of this. “We’re not talking about this. We’re going to watch mindless television for an hour or two, and then you can do whatever the hell it is you’re doing in there.”

“I told you-“ Merlin tried to wiggle free again. Arthur was having none of it.

“TV.” Arthur ordered. “No talking unless it’s about TV. Or pizza. Tonight those are the rules.”

Arthur was glad when Merlin didn’t struggle anymore and settled against him on the couch (Arthur was disappointed Merlin felt the couch cushion was a better place to sit than Arthurs own lap, but he sucked it up and didn’t complain… much).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm taking a guess at how long this is going to be (chapter wise) from here on out. Hope it's not too far off, but it could be longer or shorter. But the end is nigh. So nigh. *wants to finish already*
> 
> Please leave some feedback. I love's the feedback.


	26. BBQ

Merlin was late. He was late and he didn’t even know why he felt so flustered to be late. He hadn’t wanted to come, well not really. But it was a good opportunity to hang out with the knights a little more, and maybe get that pleased look that Arthur had the night before when he’d finally agreed to come (under protest). It had made him feel irrefutably stupid and pleased at the same time.

He checked the map he’d printed out, turned towards the clamouring sound of life, and checked the time. Two hours late. Not too bad. Merlin tried to remind himself that he’d told Arthur he was going to be late. He’d had work and slept in all day, he couldn’t wake up much earlier without throwing his body clock into rebellion and then he’d never be awake for work again (they really did encourage him to be awake at work, strangely enough).

The park was wonderful, it positively beamed to have him visit it. He’d been to Hampstead Heath before, but it had never been so loud. He stopped on the cusp of the park, on cement and looking in amongst trees and wildlife. He couldn’t see Arthurs troop yet, but there were a few people around. Lunch time, even on a week day, was a good time to go to the park. That it was unseasonably pleasant didn’t hurt (it was still cold, he still had a jacket on against the chill but he had unknotted his scarf and let it fall down his sides). The wind ruffled his hair and he rolled his eyes at the sinister thing before fixing the mess up with busy fingers.

“Okay.” He told the world at large, and it stilled for him, curious. “I’m going to be around all day, but I need some peace and quite.” A passing couple gave him a strange look and crossed the street, Merlin did not care at all (he did, but he liked to pretend he didn’t). “So, lets keep it to normal levels?” The quite that followed his statement was encouraging, and he stepped onto the grass (no notable change but it had felt like a barrier he could use). Some of the tree’s offered a greeting, even the grass had things to say (he felt kind of guilty walking on the damn stuff, but it didn’t seem to mind at all – nature made no sense sometimes).

Pleased with the way everything was being calm (except for that breeze, which had decided to try and see how many incidental ruffles it would take to annoy him) Merlin offered a few answers to the things around him and went on his hunt. He checked his map then realised it really was just a cross in the middle of a big green space. He had been heading for the spot, but it occurred to him he had an easier way to do this.

Curious he spread out his attention, letting his awareness skim along the grass, and up the tree branches. He stretched himself out, feeling for Arthur and his cohorts. Feeling for that tinge of familiarity he was so used to now. It took five seconds, at the most, before he’d pinned them down, not far away, but away from the road. Merlin made a beeline for them. 

 

Merlin wasn’t sure how, but Gwaine was there. He knew it before he even knew about the others (except Arthur; Arthur was warm steel and stretched out across everything near him and Merlin could feel him long before he’d gotten off the tube). The others were in the middle of a game, a clash of muscles and technique Merlin had never found all that interesting, but he could admit appeared to be technically, and physically difficult. The safer option was Gwaine, but it wasn’t that safe.

Between himself and Gwaine was a surprisingly large gathering of families. They were all wrapped up in warm enough clothes, pretty coats of seasonable colours and thick woollen accessories, but like Merlin they’d discarded many of the layers. Almost all of them were watching the game, little fold out chairs facing the unofficial field, but some were keeping their eyes on little children who darted back and forwards with alarming speed. Merlin didn’t feel comfortable walking through them unintroduced, though it was clear they were part of the troops ‘picnic’, but they seemed to span out across the park and to have claimed it as their own. It was go through them or the field. Merlin wasn’t that stupid.

Trying not to look suspicious or shifty in anyway, Merlin stepped in trough the crowd, and not a single person noticed him. A cheer, at one stage, startled him, but apparently one half of the men playing had scored. Merlin glanced to the pitch and spied Arthur trying to look grumpy about the loss (but he wasn’t doing a very good job) and Percival looking apologetic about his success. It was only a brief moment before they regrouped in the middle for the next play and Merlin had his destination planned.

Gwaine was sprawled across a bright purple picnic blanket, luxuriating and slothern. He was wearing large black sunglasses (female and definitely not Gwaines) and seemed completely oblivious to the game in the distance.

He made a grunt when the families cheered again, and his face scrunched into annoyance. Merlin kicked his foot playfully.

“Hung over, Gwaine?” 

“Wont be for long if you got get me some more.” But there were no signs of a drink near Gwaine and Merlin merely laughed at him.

“You sure about that?” Merlin noticed he’d been noticed at last. A small group of women on the chairs were looking over at the pair of them, speaking low and quickly amongst themselves.

“If it means I don’t have to play, yes.” Gwaine pushed his glasses off his nose so Merlin could see his amusement. It matched his smirk perfectly.

“I thought you’d be right up there with the rest of them.” Merlin dropped his backpack next to the blanket (where had Gwaine gotten such a girly looking thing?) and stole a spot on the edge of the purple monstrosity.

“Structured sport?” Gwaine scoffed, “I couldn’t think of anything more like working. All those rules.” He dropped the pilfered glasses back down onto his nose, blocking out the sun. It was a relatively bright day, considering the season. “Now,” Gwaine considered, “if I lie here, I can rest up for tonight.”

“What’s tonight?” One of the teams scored and all the onlookers cheered again, apparently it didn’t matter who won.

“Who knows? But it’s good to be ready.” Gwaine wiggled his fingers, and flashed Merlin another grin.

“I’m going to hide here with you.” Merlin made clear, but since he was already shoving Gwaine in the side to make more room on the blanket, he supposed it was already obvious.

“Just don't drag me into it when his royal highness decides you should be in the midst of it. For fun.” Gwaines absolute disgust was clear as day.

“Deal.” Merlin sprawled out, head turned up to the sun so that he could feel it beam down onto him, warming his skin. Absently he asked the clouds to move on for a few more minutes. It was delicious having that kind of warmth on your skin in the middle of winter. The clouds were amiable and drifted away. Gwaine grumbled and threw his arms over his sunglasses, apparently they weren’t doing the best job.

“I notice,” Gwaine began amiably, “that your new friend is out there.”

Merlin scoffed, “You’re my new friend, Gwaine.”

“I’ve known you for at least two weeks more than any of that lot.” And apparently he was quite proud of that. “I’m positively ancient, even if himself is shagging you, I get precedence on all your friend tasks.”

“You are my oldest friend, now.” Merlin said it before he could think and he felt Gwaine tense up next to him. “I mean-“ Merlin sat up quickly before Gwaine could leave, “You’re clearly the sexiest.” Which was a poor attempt but Merlin was tired and he didn’t want Gwaine to leave.

Gwaine surprised him. “I’m sorry about Will,” he was soft voiced, his finger tips touching the side of Merlins leg, “I liked him.”

Something lodged tight in Merlins throat and refused to move. Gratitude for Gwaine, who’d known Will the most out of all these men. Gwaine who had demons he didn’t want to face, who didn’t want to deal with any demons, and he was offering this. Merlin decided, then and there, that he would protect Gwaine against anything that came their way. Arthur was first, but Gwaine, he deserved more than he had.

“Me too.” Merlin managed, his throat dry. He felt like more needed to be said, but he didn’t want to think about, and neither, it seemed, did Gwaine. So they did what any grown ups would, they pretended it wasn’t there.

In the silence Merlin let himself relax, his senses spreading out around and below him. Not stretched, just released, and he breathed with the world.

It was the first time he could appreciate it, but right now he felt absolutely safe and unguarded. Five of Arthur’s knights and Arthur himself, all in the same place and nothing was wrong. He let that assurance of age, the world around him, and the feeling of hope and joy ebb into his soul where it nestled and made a home. And slowly he drifted to sleep.

 

He was dreaming. An altogether unpleasant dream. Nothing solid, just a feeling. It felt like a five meter long worm was lodged in his gut, slowly twisting around on itself. Merlin did not like the dream, he usually had pleasant dreams about being late for work, or running hard but not moving anywhere. This dream itched at his mind, scratching out a tender spot to exploit, and he fought it back, unwilling to hear it out.

It had just started to gain ground, pushing aside that rare, wonderful dream about the perfect orgasm (he wanted that dream thank you very much!), when he woke up.

“Merlin.” Something attacked his face and Merlin jerked up, hand outstretched and eyes flaring with the magic that surged at his demand. His heart rate was up, his skin painted with sweat and his breathing laboured. He blinked, there was no-one there, but beside him Gwaine broke into laughter. “You look ridiculous.” Gwaine helpfully supplied.

“I-“ Merlin hesitated, aware he’d dreamed, aware something had been wrong, but not sure what. He tried to tap back into the idea of it, but it slipped away into the recesses of his sleep addled mind. “Did you hit me in the face?” Merlin reached up and found wetness. He freaked that he’d been crying, even though it hadn’t felt like he was. Suspicious he looked to Gwaine. Gwaine who had a pleasant smile, Gwaine who was holding a half empty plastic cup of water.

Merlin glared at the water, but the plastic cup seemed quite happy to do nothing (spiteful) and the water itself was limited. He went to glare at Gwaine, but the glare couldn’t hold ground against the rakish grin Gwaine was giving him.

“I’m going to kill you one day.” Merlin offered, half threat, but mostly surrender.

Gwaine threw his arm over Merlins shoulders, “You’ll have to join a much longer queue than you’d think for that privilege.” He informed with all solemn honesty. Merlin tried to not be amused, but the grin slipped past his defences anyway.

“Moron.” Merlin accused.

“Well, this moron has woken you up before Arthur can re-enact Sleeping Beauty with your twitching face.”

“It was not twitching.” Merlin countered, even as he checked to see the game had broken up, and Arthur was approaching.

“Like a rabbit.” Gwaine offered, then threw that blinding smile at Arthur. “Ah, you’ve finished being manly and sweaty?” 

“Are you done man handling Merlin?” Arthur countered, looking a little cross. Gwaine’s arm on his shoulder dropped down to his waist. Gwaines head came to rest on his shoulder, and Merlin could see Arthurs annoyance ratcheted up a notch.

“Nowhere near.” Merlin knew Gwaine enough to hear the teasing, Arthur apparently did as well, because instead of throwing his annoyance into anger he turned to Leon (a step behind him and looking amused by the whole thing).

“Did you invite that lump of a man?” Arthur checked.

Leon nodded, “You invited Lancelot. Didn’t feel right not to have them all here.” Which earned Leon a glare (he remained absolutely unrepentant) and Merlin threw him a pleased smile which earned him a glare as well (but Merlin was far too pleased to care).

“The more the merrier, isn’t that right Arthur dear?” And apparently Morgana was there, all in dark purple and smiling a secret smile. Merlin realised the purpose of the smile two seconds later when Arthur’s expression clouded.

“You weren’t invited.” Arthur seemed stuck. Morgana laughed and lent down over Gwaine to ruffle her fingers through Merlins hair. Merlin realised he was being touched a great deal more than he had ever been be used to. But unlike Gwaines touch, Morgana’s was grounding and cool.

“Family’s and friends.” Morgan withdrew a small folded paper from her handbag and began to read: “Let’s live it up before seeing them off,” Morgana, all delicate tones, raised a brow at that, “everyone’s invited” she gave Arthur a pointed look, “to celebrate with family and friends for the reinstatement of our favourite troop. Come down to… Well you know the rest.” She smiled, pleased with herself. “And, Arthur, I am family.”

Arthurs smile was tight, “Yes. Of course you are. Why don’t you mingle.” He wriggled his fingers where the BBQ had been set up and food was being laid out. Merlin assumed this meant it was lunch time.

“Don’t be dull Arthur. I’m here to embarrass you. Certainly I can do it over there, but I get far more enjoyment when I do it right in front of your face.” She looked down to Merlin, “He is adorable isn’t he?”

Arthur scoffed, so did Leon (but for a different reason), and Merlin was still torn between liking and disliking Morgana and that outweighed all the switches to deal with humour he usually had open.

 

Lunch was a juggling act of pleasantries, gossip, introductions and spilt food. Merlin took part in it with the horror of a complete stranger amongst a gaggle of people who knew all knew each other and wanted to make him feel welcome. It was exhausting, getting names right, and faces mixed up. Knocking two children to the ground when he stepped back and intercepted their run for victory (or whatever it was kids raced for) was probably the highlight, even if their mother (he assumed it was their mother) shouted at them to mind where they were running and no-one tried to lynch him.

Merlin tried to bare it with good grace, tried to remember the names of soldiers he had already met, and all their families. Tried to remember who was married, who was a sibling, and who owned which child (the last task he gave up on after he realised no-one cared if he got that wrong).

Occasionally there was a reprieve and it was during one of the brief reprieves that Merlin managed to sneak back to Gwaines ostracised purple blanket and breath again. The soldiers were mingled amongst the rest of the party, Gwaine and Lancelot seemed just as integrated as the rest of them and had no trouble keeping up with whatever conversations and questions were being fired at them.

“They’re just being protective.” Morgana declared, taking the space on the blanket beside him.

He smiled tightly wishing he’d had a few more moments to himself. “Morgana.”

“Really Merlin,” she dismissed his ire, looking bored, of all things, “I don’t even care that Arthur turned gay for you, which is what their curious about. That and making sure your good enough for him. It’s positively adorable.”

“He didn’t turn-“

“Of course he didn’t.” She scoffed. “No one changes my brute of a brothers mind about anything. If he’s dating you he’s always liked men, he just didn’t think they were worth the effort. Which makes you a thousand times more fascinating than they think you are.” She waved at the crowd, eyes delighted and focused, and Merlin looked up to see Arthur watching them closely. “We’re talking about you!” She called loudly, and Arthur scowled turning his attention sharply away from them and towards the young woman talking to him.

“You like doing that?” Merlin tested, feeling a little annoyed on Arthurs behalf.

She smiled fondly at him, “I love doing that.” She corrected.

“Why are you here?” Because he was curious. There didn’t seem to be much but antagonism between the siblings but she’d come anyway. Surely even she wasn’t that bored.

She watched Merlin, eyes dark and considering as she took him in. And he saw the fake answer, the jibe and frivolous answer melt away. “I wont to make sure I see him before he dies.”

“What?” Merlin’s heart rate jumped into over drive, the idea of ‘threat’ and ‘peril’ ricocheting through his system too fast to stall. “What do you mean by that?” He forced through a tight throat, not sure what was happening.

Her hand settled on his arm, unthreatening, calming. “I didn’t get to see my mother when she was became sick.” Morgana gentled, then spoke in soft a voice of soft secrets. “I don’t love many people, Merlin, but I love Arthur, and I want to know that if he dies next week I saw him off. That I didn’t choose not to see him that last time.”

She gave him only a moment to understand before she squeezed his arm and directed his attention to three women approaching with a blanket and a drink each.

“I hope you don’t mind.” One of them checked, even as her friend began to arrange them on the patch around them. “You seem to have stolen all the sun over here, and it’s so nice in the sun.” She offered a polite smile, non-invasive, but Merlin felt like they’d interrupted something important. For a moment, he was sure, he’d felt nothing but adoration for the absolute beauty that was the woman at his side. For a moment he couldn’t comprehend that in another life she may have been the key to Arthurs death.

He reminded himself, as the company settled in, that nothing was certain. Whatever had happened before didn’t have to happen again, and maybe it wouldn’t because this life was already so different. No war lords, gender equality, mobile phones, hell any of it could make such a drastic difference Merlin wasn’t sure how to quantify it all. Besides that, there was still Lancelot, who made no sense since he’d been added to the stories long after the original source, so maybe things weren’t so clear cut.

He redirected his thoughts, “Where is he going?” Because actually that was kind of important, and no-one had mentioned going anywhere to him.

Morgana puzzled for a second, then rolled her eyes in exasperation (but not, he was sure, directed at him). “They were cleared of charges. They’re back on active duty next week.”

Merlin tasted sand and heat, felt the echo of foreign lands in his veins and shuddered, “They’re going to Afghanistan?” He really felt he should have been given some warning on that.

“Nah, they’ll be beating them over the head with re-training in Chelsea for the next month.” One of the women who had joined them, Edith, chipped in. The other two women groaned, and everyone ignored as a child trampled across their blankets. “After that,” Edith shrugged, “who knows.”

“We probably wont see them for months.” The woman to Edith’s left added, looking affronted but resigned. “They always send them here and there without any warning.”

“That is their job.” Morgana reminded, and Merlin realised he had no idea what kind of soldiers they were. He’d been reading his little book about the british military, and honestly there were so many branches, so many speciality’s, and grunts and factions that there were a multitude they could belong to. He’d ask Leon later, if he remembered. It wasn’t life altering, he was sure. War was war, after all.

“They’d have to give them leave if Arthur marries you though!” The second lady chirped up, full of cheer and excitement and Merlin was knocked from his thoughts faster than he could have them.

“What?” He demanded, horrified, and was completely ignored.

“Oh, that’d be fantastic.” Edith, Merlin decided, was actually a horrible person. “We’d all get to go to a wedding, then. I love a good excuse to go shopping.”

“Wait. No. No.” Merlin tried to interject.

“Oh, the dress! I love to see the bride… well… no. But maybe some nice silk shirts?” It was about that time Merlin lost the ability to listen over the pounding of blood in his ears. Jesus but he was blushing like a school girl. He would make Arthur fix this, tell all these perfectly polite (but gossipy) people that they weren’t dating. That they would never date, that dating was not a thing that would ever happen between them. This could not go on, in less than an hour they’d probably have his entire hypothetical future planned out.

“Merlin.” Morgana whispered, close to his ear and leaning on his arm. There was a devils amusement in her voice. “They’re planning your wedding.”

As if he didn’t know. “Shut up.”

“But it’s charming!” She tittered, then more thoughtfully added, “I wonder if I could be your bridesmaid.”

“Right. That’s is.” And as manfully as he could Merlin extracted himself from the four horrors before they could inflict any more horror on him.

In his effort to appear more manful and less cowed by a bunch of gossips and teases Merlin stood closer to the re-emerging rugby game. Apparently lunch was over. He wasn’t sure where the step was, but Merlin had taken it by accident and in the first break of the game Leon was looking at him, considering.

He wasn’t sure what was worse, Rugby of gossip and was starting to back pedal closer to the BBQ (there were some sensible looking people there, it might have been safe), but Leon had him in a headlock in under a second.

Tempted Merlin considered zapping him on principal. It was one thing to be manhandled by people who honestly thought he was helpless, it was quite another when idiots risked the wrath of trapped wizards when they knew what he could do to them.

“I call Merlin on my team!” Leon declared. “Filch, you wanted a break, off you go.”

“What really?” Filch (apparently) seemed as incredulous as Merlin felt.

“Yep. He will be our crowning jewel.” Leon decided, as if Merlin didn’t have a say in the matter. Another temptation to zap the bastard zinged through Merlin, but like a good little idiot he held it back. His reward was being released from the head lock, a shaggy golden headed smile and then being turned to face a scowling Arthur.

“Fine,” Arthur conceded, “but it’s your own fault when you lose.”

As if Merlin would only be a hindrance. As if Merlin couldn’t do anything but make them fail. For that alone Merlin played dirty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... that was hard. A chapter where pretty much nothing happens. Not entirely unusual... but whatever. This chapter was a struggle, and I still feel like I skipped over everything (for example, why is there no Arthur/Merlin time? That should have been there, but there were too many people at the bbq... stupid people.)
> 
> Anyway. Chapter done. And now I shall never look at it again.
> 
> Please review. Without reviews I'd just give up and toss the entire thing at this stage. *blackmail*


	27. Four Weeks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really hadn't intended to write more of the BBQ scene or it would have been in the last chapter. But... that happened.

In all honestly Merlin knew nothing about Rugby. He’d only ever seen the game on TV in the backgrounds at pubs. Will had explained the rules to him once, or at least told him the rules and expected Merlin to remember them, but when Merlin had shown no interest in retaining that knowledge Will had given up. That had been a lost cause they’d both agreed on.

It wasn’t professional rugby being played in the middle of the park, but it was more structured than Merlin expected most games at a picnic to be. He tried to tell Leon, as he was dragged into the melee, that he had no idea what to do, and Leon had just grinned said; “Don’t throw it forwards.” Which made next to no sense because Merlin wasn’t even sure how or why you’d throw something anywhere else (especially when there was a goal).

It wasn’t so much of a problem for the most part, because the ball didn’t go near him often and Merlin spent most the time while he wasn’t fearing for his life (there was no way any sane man should play a sport where people threw, literally threw, themselves at each other) sinking ground below peoples feet, and spinning little breezes with leaf litter into players faces.

Leon flashed him a grin any time someone fumbled the ball, and Merlin did his best to pretend he had nothing to do with most of them (he did, and he could see from the disgruntled expressions of Arthurs team that they knew they were playing a jinxed game). And then he had to bend some winds creatively when he himself fumbled the ball twice because Manus foolishly threw the thing at him (backwards! Who threw these things away from the goal?) and their score had become ominously tied.

He tried to redirect the ball at one stage but it only made the thing shudder a bit and then keep going, because propulsion was apparently not something easily messed with. Merlin set that down as something to practice on, when next he felt like being in a park with a ball with nothing else to do.

Merlin was just trying to work out how to convince the ball itself to make the fumbles happen (apparently being kicked around all the time made it decidedly uncooperative) when one of the women on his team (someone’s cousin?) threw the ball back at him. Merlin blinked, more in shock that the ball had snapped snug between his hands and not jumped right back out (completely unmagically, Merlin just wasn’t good at this sort of sport). And then he was in the midst of the enemy team and tackled to the ground.

He had half a second to know four things, the first was that Arthur had just tackled him, the second was that even he knew enough about the rules to know the tackle was completely illegal, the third was that he still had the ball cradled to his chest, and the fourth was that he was never ever going to play this game again.

“Foal!” Leon cried, indignant.

“You still alive down there beanpole?” Was the woman who had thrown him the ball in the first place. Merlin managed to glare at her from under the hunkering weight of Arthur (who should have started to move already).

“Ass.” Merlin insulted in a gasp, because Jesus there was no wind left in his lungs for proper insults.

“You’re not meant to hug the ball Merlin.” Arthur insisted, raising himself up and looking just as surprised by their close quarters as Merlin felt. He even had the audacity to glare behind him accusingly. “Did I just trip over a tree root?”

“Don’t make shit up.” Merlin ordered following his line of sight to the unmarred ground. “There aren’t any trees near the field.” But to be sure Merlin sent out his magic to see if there had been a tree root, and was unimpressed to find a little rock that reeked of interference without a hint of apology. Merlin felt a headache kick in forced the rock back into hiding and would never tell Arthur it was anything but his clumsy feet that had gotten them there.

“You lovers getting up anytime soon? We need the ball to keep playing.” Which was another solider, and Merlin went beet red, because Arthur had still not gotten up.

“You have to tell them I’m not your boyfriend.” Merlin insisted in a his of a whisper. 

“I didn’t tell them you were my boyfriend,” which was a poor defence in Merlins opinion, “and I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t believe you from this angle.”

“Well then get off me!” And this time Merlin actually pushed his up and out of the way, handing the ball to the woman who’d passed it to him.

“Sorry.” She amended, a smirk on her lips, “Thought you’d at least know to run.” Which was probably fair, but Merlin wasn’t feeling generous as he wiped dirt and grass of himself.

“Leon, I’m out.”

Leon bemoaned the loss. But they still won the game, because Merlin didn’t see the point in not finishing the thing once he’d been sucked into it (it was much easier to do from the sidelines too, and Gwaine’s commentary on the game actually made the entire thing hilarious).

Leon even engulfed him in a hug when he got off the field and treated Merlin like he’d won the game personally. Considering how much they’d won by, it probably wasn’t a lie. Even if everyone else didn’t quite understand Leon’s enthusiasm.

 

The picnic didn’t start to break up until well after dark. Merlin had been amused when food had started up a second time, and it had become as much dinner as lunch. The people lingered and laughed and Merlin enjoyed being part of it all.

He was also raised with manners, so he was happy to help clean up after the party had mostly gone. He helped Percival load some tables and chairs into the back of his sedan, and was doing a sweep of the ground for any missed rubbish (they were bound to miss something, and everyone else was dealing with the bigger things).

Arthur found him, it wasn't a challenge, but Merlin still felt startled when he looked around and the only person in ear shot was Arthur himself. Everyone else seemed to have migrated to the cars to load them up.

“Hi.” Merlin tried, feeling immediately unsettlingly awkward. They were friends, he was sure of it, and he liked Arthur, but there was something about the pocket of silence surrounding him that made this feel too intimate.

“You know, I haven’t lost a game that badly since I was fifteen.” Arthur wasn’t standing close, he was more than an arms reach away, arms crossed against the cold but it felt close and Merlins instincts were clamouring at him to escape before any distance was breeched.

He considered offering a trite condolence but the smile ticked at the corner of his mouth, even if it was only Leon who understood, Merlin had made that win happen. “You shouldn’t bet against me.” He grinned, not at all repented. Arthur merely frowned at that, but he didn’t look angry, just put out.

“Well you shouldn’t be on someone else’s team.”

Merlin was, honest to god, sure that Arthur was pouting and he worked valiantly not to let himself smile over it. There was something softly endearing about Arthur in a stint about Merlins defection and Merlin didn’t want to step on it and make the moment painful. He wanted to promise that in anything that counted he was always at Arthurs side, to tell him that there was no reason to think differently, but the world was still too close and it was the type of moment where secrets slipped past your guards in soft words and promises. Merlin couldn’t do that, not like this, never. He had spent his life looking for this man, he would not compromise an entire destiny because he wanted, no matter how much he felt that want.

Instead Merlin shrugged, folding his arms in close to his chest to hold himself still. “You should have asked.” Because that had truth to it.

Arthur huffed, “I shouldn’t have had to.”

Merlin looked away, because it was true but not for any reason that Arthur would accept. It made Merlin cautious and fragile, to wonder if Arthur could feel the pull of destiny as tight and binding as Merlin did. He wasn’t sure what that could do to someone when they didn’t accept what it meant. But mostly he worried, for the first time, that he’d already given too much of himself away and the things he’d already given were forever. Will would have known, but he was gone, and all Merlin had left were the tastes of destiny to keep him going.

“Yeah,” Merlin managed, tight voiced and eyes averted, “you really should.”

Silence took them up, and if not for the whir of thoughts shifting and cycling through his mind Merlin would have melted in with the shadows of the trees and the stillness of a fading day. Arthur shifted, his arms unfolded, and took a step closer. Immediately Merlin was watching him, cautious, because the distance was protective and it should never be breached.

“I have to go.” Merlin rushed, half turned and made the mistake of seeing Arthurs expression. He stilled immediately and tilted his head back, as casually as he could. “You go away tomorrow?”

“For a month.” Arthur confirmed, arms folded again, face shuttered.

“I don’t think we’ve even known each other that long.” Merlin couldn’t remember time properly right now. It was winter. He knew it was winter, but besides that he couldn’t… remember. Grief had broken his grasp on dates and days, and even though he went to work and functioned he didn’t remember the passage of time properly anymore.

“A bit longer then that.” Arthur smiled, forced. “But not long.”

“And now you’re off to war.” Which was what Arthur was supposed to do.

“Retraining.” Arthur corrected with a crocked smile. “We’re going to Chelsea for retraining. Then we’re back in the capital.”

“Much work for a soldier in London?” Which was a retarded question, but he was trying to break back into their casual banter because, he was sure, they needed it more than anything else right now.

“We’re based here when not on missions. Haven’t you been reading up on the military? I saw that book.” Merlin turned back fully to glare, the book was pretty boring, more Arthurs sort of thing, but Merlin had been slugging through it slowly.

“I don’t even know what branch of the military you’re in.”

That made Arthur snort. “We’re SAS.” He snorted again. “Idiot.”

“Hey!” Merlin defended, because how was he supposed to know that.

Arthur did it again, snorted, and his grin was perfect and unyielding. “You don’t even know what we do, do you?”

“I’ll know by tomorrow!” Merlin defended, “Besides, it’s all the same.”

Arthur looked like he wanted to be offended, but instead he just shook his head. “Don’t say that around the others, they’d gut you.”

“They’d try.” Merlin grumbled, not at all sure he’d be able to fend off a pack of angry soldiers trying to defend their honour. “So when you get back…?”

Arthur shrugged, relaxed. “They might send us out the next day. But they’re more likely to want to poke us for a few more weeks. Apparently being off duty for three months makes you soft.”

“Except you’ve been training them.” Merlin remembered.

“I don’t let my unit slack off. You don’t get to our level by taking time off.” There was pride in Arthur at that. Pride of achievement and pride in his men. It fizzed through Merlin with absolute familiarity, split his vision or a second and he wasn’t just in a park late at night he was in a field at midday and there was silver and red. It was gone with a blink of the eye but Merlin knew it had happened before. He knew he’d seen it before.

“You okay?” Arthur had breached distance while Merlin wasn’t looking, a tight frown and a hand reaching out, but he stopped when Merlin focused on him again.

“Fine.” Merlin shook the last of the double image away, “Just… tired.” He looked to his exit, back towards the tube station, it was time to go. He gave his own shrug. “I’ll see you when you get back, right?”

“Yeah.” Arthur allowed. “Just don’t…” He reconsidered hand dropping to his side and expression smoothing over. “Don’t work too hard.” Arthur settled on, and Merlin could tell it wasn’t what he wanted to say, but he also knew he was fine not knowing what Arthur had been going to say.

“You too.” Merlin offered, and like the coward he knew he was, he left that stillness, he left the soft comradery and retreated into the night. 

 

Merlin hadn’t thought a month would pull so hard on him. He’d lived years without Arthur, he’d managed to deal with day to day life with the same sort of resistance any normal person felt. He’d struggled to clean his house frequently, forgot to do his laundry, didn’t remember the lack of milk until he had already changed into his pyjamas for the night. He had functioned.

But the sudden absence of Arthur in his life settled thick and heavy over Merlin. He knew it was destiny and fate twisting up his insides and protesting that he was not where Arthur was. He knew it was unhealthy and obsessive that he considered sneaking off to Chelsea just in case something went wrong and he wasn’t there to help (though what could feasibly go wrong that he could help with he wasn’t sure).

The first day without Arthur didn’t even register on Merlins radar. He spent the morning with a bowl of cereal at one hand, and a stack of papers about the anarchist movement in the UK in the other. He spent the second half of the day at work, covering Timmy’s shift because he needed the money and he was swept off his feet by the number of customers the shop had of a day time. By the time he got home from it all he was too tired to care about anything. He flopped onto his bed and surrendered to fitful sleep.

He dreamt of awkward embraces and starlight searing through his skull.

The second day followed the first, except Gwaine called him and begged him to go out on the town. Merlin couldn’t though, because he still had work and he was behind on his bills. He promised the Friday though, which seemed to appease Gwaine and the rest of the day was spent doing the laundry (which refused to do itself properly), cleaning out his bathroom, and looking up exactly what the SAS did (and decided he shouldn’t have been all that surprised that the man who had conquered and united all of England was in one of the most difficult and elite parts of the military). He could see why Arthur wasn’t sure when they’d be deployed though, because it wasn’t about spending six months in a war torn country trying to maintain peace, it was about going in, fixing hard jobs and getting out again. The risk factor was insane, Merlin tried to remind himself that Arthur and his unit were only training for the month, and that he could save all the anxiety he had clenched in his stomach for later.

By Friday he’d spent four days without Arthur and he told himself he hadn’t noticed at all, but there was an itch in his fingers that kept bothering him and he kept looking for Arthur around him.

Gwaine, bless his soul, distracted Merlin with alcohol and Merlin was all to happy to throw himself into it with abandon. How he got home that night he wasn’t sure, but he woke up fully dressed and sprawled out on his bed, so he didn’t worry too much. Most likely Gwaine had sorted him out, good old reliable Gwaine.

By the end of the first week Merlin is tapping out rhythms with agitated fingers whenever he stands still.

By the end of the second week Merlin has managed to get drunk with Gwaine three times, get stared at strangely by the fire-fighters at Lancelot’s work party (because of course they remembered who he was), and the tapping seemed to have developed a rhythm. That was without mentioning the two times Merlin had let his mind wander and found himself going somewhere without any conscious thought. He decided to ignore those though. He was also, unquestionably, bored. He wanted Arthur around.

He could study and research as much as he liked, but the tall and short of it was that it meant nothing without Arthur. Certainly it was a good founding, a base from which to work, but it felt more hallow without Arthur to criticise it and question it all. Besides, he wasn’t getting anywhere. He’d found a report on the death of a Duke, distantly related to the queen, from some time the year before. He read through the blog posts and articles about how happy some people were with the death of such a notable royal (even Merlin found that callous) and read up on condolences (which all sounded a bit the same after the first hundred), and flicked a glance at what the recent death did to the succession (not much really, it had just moved a bunch of other royals one step closer to the throne).

But the lack of information persisted. Even when he managed to drag out the police files (he wasn’t sure where they’d come from, he’d been at the table digging through what he had and found them) from the fire he’d found nothing telling. Just suspected arson, lots of death, and no reasons for it, but lots of suspicions and theories he couldn’t do anything with.

He decided he was going in circles and he needed to change angles. With nowhere else to go he rummaged through his storage boxes until he found his old notebooks. He’d been keeping them for reference since the first revelation. Scribbling down the half remembered dreams that might have been relevant. A lot he’d gone back through and scratched out at times, but there were things in there still.

He’d only kept them for three years, and by then his memory had caught up with him and things stopped been so hard to remember. But he flicked through them quickly, amused and horrified by some of the things his younger self had written, and sometimes (thankfully) pleased that he’d managed a grain of intelligence once in a while.

The notebooks kept him busy for an extra two days (that and work), but by the time he had flipped through them all he had given up on having any inspiration and thrown himself onto bed to sleep his life away.

The third week he spent watching animal documentaries while trying to get his brain to restart somewhere useful. He took on extra shifts at work, and fell asleep twice only to wake up, the first time just outside his front door, the second in the middle of a major train station, both times in his pyjamas.

The fourth week wasn’t worth mentioning.

Three days into the fifth week Merlin felt Arthur return to London. Like a piece of himself that had been stretched too thin relaxed. It was a gradual feeling, not a sudden revelation, and Merlin was surprised to feel unnoticed tension leak out of his muscles leaving him lax and lethargic. He waited until he was sure Arthur was in the city limits, then not caring how it looked, went to greet the man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what I'm doing anymore.


	28. Return

Merlin waited perched on Arthurs doorstep, leg tapping a constant rhythm of unsettled energy and waiting. He’d let himself, briefly, and only every five minutes (he was timing it) check Arthurs progress. Paths were not a straight thing in city traffic, with closed streets, public transport and all sorts of sundry that Merlin didn’t think had any right to delay Arthur, but he still felt a flare of panic every time Arthur appeared to be further away.

It was not an exact magic, so Merlin wasn’t always even sure it was happening, but it didn’t stop the reaction.

When Arthur was finally close Merlin didn’t feel any calmer. He’d though Arthur’s presence would soothe the things that had been bothering him the last few weeks, but the agitation seemed to grow. Mounting like a rising panic until Arthur was right before him, stopping one step out of his elevator was a puzzled expression.

“How did you get in here?” Arthur took a cautious step out of the elevator, heavy bag slung over his shoulder. He was tanner, darker and thinner than he had been so few weeks ago and Merlin wanted to run his hands over Arthur and check to make sure there were no injuries. Nothing hidden deeper than the bone deep weariness that came from insanely demanding physical efforts.

“I walked.” Merlin indicated the fire escape.

“It’s a locked building.” Merlin shrugged the clarification off, because he might have convinced the doors to open for him, and he might have tricked the doorman outside when he wasn’t needed but none of it had been rocket science.

“We’re going out.” Merlin distracted, or tried, and if Arthurs glance at the fire escape and elevator were any indication it was no an effective distraction. It was however accepted with the same air Arthur accepted all topic changes where Merlin might hint at magic is pushed.

“Oh?” Arthur looked down at himself. He was clean, but in jeans and a t-shirt Merlin hadn’t seen before. He looked like he was ready for bed more than a night out, but Merlin couldn’t push the energy thrumming through him away and out seemed the only recourse.

“Out out.” Merlin chanted. “So you should change, or wear that.” Merlin amended, because even casual Arthur was dressed at least as well as Merlin himself.

“I wore these on the plane. I’ll change.” His door opened before Arthur could slot the key into the lock, and the look he sent at Merlin was murderous. “You picked my lock?”

“I didn’t touch the door.” Merlin held his hands open and at his side, the picture of innocence, because actually he hadn’t. “Not my fault if you forget to lock your door when you go out.”

“Or I’ve been burgled.” Arthur seemed doubtful, but he knocked the door open with his knuckle and let it swing open unimpeded in case. He hadn’t been robbed, and Merlin reminded the lock that it was supposed to be locked until Arthur wanted it to be unlocked. It didn’t seem to understand his reprimand and Merlin didn’t want to push the issue while he was busy tracking Arthurs movements through the flat. First to the small table by the door to drop his unused keys, then into his bedroom to put his bag, then out again shirt off and looking at Merlin, “Make yourself at home.” before disappearing back into his privacy. Then more noise Merlin couldn’t identify and what sounded like a shower, if showers were supersonic quiet, which they weren’t in Merlins experience.

He decided it was a thing to do with money and poked around the house absently. He had an invite to snoop, but the house really didn’t seem all that exciting.

“Don’t you have any hobbies?” Merlin called through the bedroom door, but couldn’t hear the muffled reply. Instead he focused on the book shelf and found a collection of dvd’s he didn’t recognise. There were also books that, based on their covers and titles, were entirely based on war and the dynamics of war. He supposed that was a hobby. He’d moved onto a collection of books that looked to be much more weathered than any of Arthurs other possessions, sitting on the floor at the bottom of the bookcase, when he was interrupted.

“What did you ask?”

Merlin slotted the copy of Nineteen-Eight-Four back onto the shelf and blinked up at Arthur. “If you had any hobbies?” He repeated.

Arthur scoffed. “From the man obsessed with Arthurian Legends.”

“I like plants.” When they shut up for two seconds.

“You haven’t got a single book on plants in your entire house.”

“Oh,” Merlin waved in dismissal, “I don’t care what they’re called.”

“Studied real hard, I see.” Arthur reached down for Merlins hand, and Merlin let himself be pulled up. The energy had calmed while Merlin was distracted but it tumbled back in immediately, unsettled and jubilant.

“Where’s to drink around here?” He bounced on his toes, a half grin just for Arthur and Arthur blinked slowly, processing the image before he checked his watch.

“Yeah, okay. Should I call-”

“No. No.” Merlin couldn’t stop the grin. “Lets just go.” And Arthur didn’t require any more argument than that. Merlin was glad because he didn’t think he could handle company right now. Arthur though, Arthur was different. He was essential, not company, he was the reason to be out and about.

They snuck past Percival, but Merlin gave Leon a quick wave on their way past so the man knew where Arthur was. Leon barely shock his head and went back to his book. Merlin was pleased the man considered him adequate guard, but he wouldn’t have pointed himself out if he’d though Leon would do anything else. He supposed Leon following them around all night wouldn’t have been too bad, but he’d have felt the need to engage the other man in conversation and right now he wanted to be selfish and he didn’t want to share Arthur with anyone, not even a shadow.

Arthur found them a pub not far from his apartment, and Merlin chose the second floor without a bar and with less hubbub to settle into a worn chair in. Arthur didn’t object, took the seat next to him on the couch before waving over a server. Merlin ordered a vodka, felt like sake, and Arthur ordered beer, but looked like he wanted a red wine instead. But they both settled in with their drinks easily enough.

“So, we’re out.” Arthur waved at the room. “What have you been up to?”

“Working. You?”

“Working.” Arthur deadpanned right back.

“Fine.” Merlin huffed. “I mopped the floor at work about a hundred times, one time because a drunk vomited on everything. He apologised and slumped back out into the dark night, probably never to be seen again. Vanessa at work has a new boyfriend - third one this month. Charles is new, and can’t make a coffee on his life-”

“Fortunately you work at Starbucks so that’s not a requirement.” Arthur interrupted.

Merlin jostled him with his shoulder. “We have some standards.” He tried to defend, but Arthur just scoffed at that too. “Anyway. I made a billion coffees of variations. And a few not-coffees for the strange people who come in and don’t like coffee. I cleaned the machine about twenty times. Split things on my shoes no man should ever know the name of. And kept wondering when the hell you were getting back.”

“I told you-”

“Roughly. You told me roughly.” Merlin chastised.

“Okay. I’ll give you the training schedule next time. But to be fair, most the time we don’t know. The job goes where and when it goes. If we get bogged down in the middle of a gun fight we miss our return flight home. So we don’t give dates. It’s... a thing.”

Merlin digested that. Because... yeah... that was going to hurt a lot worse than knowing Arthur was off at a relatively safe training facility where no-one was intentionally trying to kill him. He couldn’t imagine the strain that kind of lifestyle put on the people around soldiers like Arthur.

“So. You don’t know when you’re off and about next?”

“We do a six day rotation at the garrison, and if we’re sent into active duty we usually get an hour’s warning. Time to pack and make a quick call. Sometimes we get less. But that’s the job.” And Arthur was proud of the job. Merlin could hear it. A dedication to the cause, whatever that cause was, and a purpose with his actions. He liked the unpredictability of his branch. He liked being called up to do jobs others couldn’t. Because that’s what the S.A.S. did. They were dispatched for the harder jobs. Anti-terrorism, hostage rescue, things Merlin was a hundred precent sure that Arthur excelled at. Of course he was in one of the most elite sections of the British military.

“So you’re back at work tomorrow?”

“We have three days off.” Arthur grimaced. “So it’s good we’re out. I would have spent the night trying to think of clever ways to trick you to go out tomorrow otherwise.”

Merlin bit back on the admission that he’d missed Arthur. Knew he couldn’t make it safely and if it couldn’t be done without misunderstandings he couldn’t do it.

“Well I’m busy tomorrow.” He was working for the day, much to his consternation. “Lives to save, coffee to serve.” He made a grand gesture, and Arthur just laughed at him and called over more drinks.

Merlin was sure there was a reason why he shouldn’t drink. A very specific reason, but he ignored it and matched Arthur drink for drink. Each second easing the tension that had built over the weeks and letting Merlin’s bones settle back into place, and heart slow down to his natural rhythm. Right now things were safe and he was safe, and more importantly Arthur was safe. Right now nothing could go wrong.

 

Merlin woke up trapped in the cage of very strong arms and blinked himself awake immediately. the strange sensation clattered through his head with alarm until he could focus his eyes through the dark room and pin down the blonde haired idiot attached to those arms.

No. Merlin panicked, checked himself and found that his shirt was missing but his pants were still belted on and in place. It didn’t’ stop the panic. Didn’t stop him trying to pull out of that hold. In fact there was a little piece in him that reeked of disappointment, but he crushed that down into the backs of his brain where it had no business emerging from.

He tried to untangle himself from Arthur (still clutching at him) and the arms around him tightened fiercely.

“Oi.” Merlin warned, not caring if Arthur was asleep of awake.

“Shut up, Merlin.”

“Let me go, Arthur.” Merlin parroted.

“Stop fidgeting, nothing happened. Unless you being a dead weight all the way upstairs, stealing my bed, and then expecting me to sleep on the couch counts.” Arthur hadn’t opened his eyes yet, steadfastly trying to remain unconscious and Merlin was just annoyed enough to zap the bastard.

The yelp and immediate release had Merlin out of bed with a grin, and an angry glare from Arthur in return.

“I need the bathroom.” Merlin smiled pleasantly and Arthur just shook his head and buried it back into the blankets.

“You open the curtains and I’ll shoot you.” Arthur warned, and Merlin decided to do that right after he’d been to the loo. His headache was mild and beautifully lifting. God he loved magic sometimes. He also vaguely wondered what the trade off was. He’d seen too many stories about karma and balance to not know something bad had to come from the good things.

“And make coffee!” Arthur shouted out after Merlin, and Merlin thought that was a grand idea but he wasn't going to be making any for self important grabby would be kings who didn’t have any manners. It all had to wait until after he’d been to the loo though. Really priorities.

Merlin opened the front door because it insisted on him doing it, and found a newspaper.

“Seriously?” Merlin demanded of the door, and picked the neatly laid thing up and took it back inside. His coffee was ready. It actually tasted better than the coffee at work which wasn’t surprising considering the quality of all the other food in Arthurs cupboard.

He hadn’t gone back into wake Arthur up with open curtains because he was enjoying the silent morning and cereal (with fresh milk!) to much to ruin it. Whatever had been humming under his skin since Arthur had left had gone. He liked to pretend it was magic, ordering him about destiny and letting future kings out of his sight, but he couldn’t really deny anxiety had as much play as anything else in how he’d felt. Well... he could deny it and he was going to keep on denying it. Wasn’t any point admitting to it anyway.

He was flicking through the newspaper, enjoying the novelty of it, and seeking out the crossword so he could scribble over it in pen and get most the answers wrong, when the headline distracted him.

It was a double article on the now postponed royal engagement celebrations and the princesses upcoming funeral. He read through it twice, checking for any details that stood out, but found that the only thing he really knew was who the engaged couple were. He was flicking through to the crossword, skimming the world news as he went, when Arthur snuck up behind him and snatched the coffee out of his hand.

“Hey!” Merlin tried to launch, Arthur held him at his back and took a long drink.

“Don’t pinch me next time you want to get up.”

“Don’t molest me in my sleep!”

“Merlin, if that’s what you call molesting we need to have a serious discussion.” Arthur set the empty mug down on the bench and Merlin glared back at Arthur for the loss and clung to his bowl protectively. Arthur waited, as if for something, before moving around Merlin to the coffee machine. “Seriously Merlin, how can honestly think you’re going to make me a king when you can’t even hold a normal conversation in the mornings...”

They both fell into silence as the coffee re-brewed, and this time Arthur made the stuff and it tasted better somehow. Merlin felt resentful that it was his job to make coffee and Arthur was better at it, but didn’t let it show (much). Then Arthur grabbed some fruit from the fridge, the newspaper off the bench and wandered off to the table. Merlin followed because he wasn’t sure what else to do and sat on the chair opposite Arthur.

The silence comfortable, soft, and Merlin didn’t feel like filling it. Instead he stole the part of the paper Arthur wasn’t reading and set back to his quest to find the crossword. He’d just found it and was about to ask for a pen when he spied the front page of the paper again.

Something in his brain turned over, and Merlin wondered why the idea hadn’t occurred to him before. He was so excited by the idea he didn’t really consider what Arthur would think of it, so when he shouted, “We could marry you off!” he was surprised by the glare he received in return.

“Didn’t you already promise to find me the love of my life? And now you want to marry me off?” Arthur double checked, the paper lowering to the table.

Merlin knew he should be intimidated, but the idea had taken seed and he wondered how close to the throne marrying Arthur into the royal family could get him. The queen would die sooner or later. Charles... no-one liked him, but the boys... he wasn’t even sure what to do about them. But if he got Arthur married into the family, closer, fate might make the difference.

“We could... whose that other princess?”

“Anne?” Arthur deadpanned a dark look settled in his eyes.

“Isn’t she old?” Merlin wasn’t sure. He’d heard of a princess Anne. Seemed like a name he should know.

“First.” Arthur interrupted, hands settled on the table in a deliberately controlled move. Merlin watched the tension in Arthurs shoulders, not sure how he had caused it.

“It wouldn’t be cheating on Guinevere,” Merlin hastened to intercept, “you haven’t even met her yet. And maybe your wife will die-”

“First!” Arthur snapped, and there was enough anger in there to stop Merlins mind short on it’s tumble through ideas. “If I married a princess and she got to the throne, that,” Arthur swept his hand fiercely, “would make me Prince Consort. Not King.” He let that sink in, and Merlin sat cowed by Arthurs tone. “And second, though not last, I think I see a few issues you’re not seeing.”

Silence fell. It was total silence, the kind that seeped into you and rattled around in your head until there was no way to avoid it. Merlin wanted to break it. Wanted to argue with Arthur that a marriage might be all they needed, but even he knew how the royalty worked (vaguely).

Exasperated Arthur let out a sign. “How can you know so little about the royal family, Merlin?”

“I liked the old systems better.” Merlin muttered rebelliously. Because if it had been ‘then’ rather than ‘now’ he was sure it would be easier than this. “Pick up a sword, swing it around a bit and Bam. You’re King.”

Arthur laughed, and Merlin felt something in him loosen. “You realise our rulers would then be WWF wrestlers or Olympic athletes right?” Arthur chuckled at the image, letting the tension go and Merlin wasn’t sure why it was going or how it had arrived so quickly. The idea was sound, if not perfect. “You lived a charmed, delusional life, Merlin.” Arthur flicked the newspaper at Merlin, and Merlin deflected it trying to feel insulted, but it was hard to stay mulish when Arthur had moved past anger into amusement. Like ignoring the mood would be a greater crime than having created a bad one ever could be.

Merlin still wasn’t convinced though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've actually been posting this on Tumblr and not here. I wonder how many people read authors notes? Kimracorp. That's me. On Tumblr. With more of this story. I'll post it here in the next few weeks though. I'm not intentionally rude, just busy.


	29. Part 29 Gone Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is still going. It's not done yet though.

Arthur had shown up at his apartment. Merlin wasn’t sure why, but Arthur had just shrugged it off as if it were irrelevant and settled himself down on Merlins couch. Merlin had ignored the interruption, not actually sure if they had arranged to meet of not, and gone back to his accounts. They were tedious and horrible, but his bank had called again that morning and he’d been reminded of the muddle that was his finances. He was particularly thrilled to find out his work hadn’t paid him for ten shifts he’d done in the last month and that he had been fined by the bank for late payments.

Arthur flicked the TV on and cycled through the stations absently. Eventually he turned the thing off in a huff and threw the remote down on the table.

“What are you doing?” He lent in close to see the computer screen.

“Enjoying the few minutes I have before I have to get ready for work.” Merlin shoved his elbow into Arthurs side, but it didn’t seem to have an affect because Arthur was still reading all his bank details with a scowl.

“How is that number so low?” He asked, incredulous. “You’re always at work.”

“No.” Merlin grumbled. “I’m not. I’m always out paying for drinks for your sorry ass.”

“No-one forces you to hang out with us. You do that voluntarily, and we tolerate you out of the goodness of our hearts.”

“You really are an ass.” Merlin glared and Arthurs only response was too grin.

“And yet you remain.” And Merlin was pretty sure that was a gloating tone.

“Nope. I have work. Entertain yourself.” Merlin closed his computer, put it aside, and left Arthur to his own devices. He had the TV after all, he should be fine.

\---

Merlin had showered and was going through the clothes on his floor trying to find a clean shirt (sometimes the clean and dirty pile got mixed together by accident) when Arthur stepped into the room.

For a moment Merlin paused, considered his bare-chested moment and double checked the knot of his towel. He’d never had a problem with it before, but it would be just his luck to wind up horribly embarrassed in front of a man he was going to spend his entire life beside.

“Merlin.” And that was an annoyed tone. Merlin glanced to see what he’d done wrong (not that that usually helped, but he was always hopeful) and found Arthur standing in the doorway, a laptop open and balanced in his left hand. Arthur, however, was looking directly at him and ignoring the laptop.

“What?” Merlin, feeling too naked, decided the shirt he was holding was good enough and pulled it on quickly. It stuck to the back of his neck where his wet hair dripped but it was better than the alternative (he was not drying his hair with his towel when it was quite importantly occupied keeping him covered thank you very much).

“What is this?”

Merlin saw the gesture in the corner of his eye, but had to turn himself around to frown at Arthur to realise that the man wasn’t on some magically unnoticed computer he’d brought with him. Merlin boggled. “Are you on my computer?” He wanted to be angry, but he could only stare in shock. Sure Will used to use his computer, but no-one else did. It was possible no-one else had ever had a chance.

“Are you looking up the line of assentation for the royal family?” Arthur was frowning, a hard line of annoyance.

“Of course not.” He dismissed, because yeah okay he had looked at it a little the night before, but it wasn’t something he had to justify. “Don’t look at my computer.” 

“Put a password on it if it’s private.” The ‘idiot’ was unstated, but the tone was clear enough.

Merlin went to argue, to explain that he shouldn’t have to expect guests to start sticking their noses into his computer and going through open windows, but when he turned to fight Arthurs frown had become something more concerned. Merlin felt a shift of guilt inside him, a shift he tried to squish down relentlessly, because this was his job. To get Arthur on the throne was all that mattered, and if Arthur was disappointed in him occasionally, then that was what had to happen.

“How far’d you get?” Arthur was doing something on his computer, and Merlin wanted to go and take it off him, but he didn’t feel dressed enough to engage in what might become a tussle. Also he’d learnt that fighting over a computer only ever led to bad things for the computer.

“The one that rides horses?” Because he’d been pretty bored by the whole thing and only give it about ten minutes attention. The royal family really were a bunch of over paid boring people who practiced smiling at cameras. Well the Queen did some things, but after her they didn’t seem to do anything useful.

Arthur scratched his eyebrow and Merlin twitched with the desire to steady his computer. But the thing didn’t even tilt. It worried Merlin, people should not be that co-ordinated. It was not natural.

“You go to 18- 16th in line?”

“I don’t even remember her name.” Merlin admitted, watching his computer with concern. He jumped when Arthur snapped it closed and tossed (tossed!) it onto Merlins bed.

“Seriously, Merlin.” And there was something like begging in that tone that Merlin did not like. He wondered, as he turned back to his hunt for clothes (he’d just go into the bathroom again to change if Arthur was going to stand in his room all day), if it counted as ignoring an order if the order was never implicitly stated. Arthur didn’t know, for all he knew he’d fall in love with one of them. For all Arthur knew Guinevere was one of the royals already. He’d always thought she’d be a lord or a lady somewhere and not a royal, but who knew how magic and history was going to play out the whole thing?

He found a pair of pants still clean and escaped back into the bathroom. Merlin ran his fingers through his hair, brushed the excess water out of it and stepped out to find Arthur waiting for him.

“I have to work.” Merlin explained, although he was sure he’d said that already. He pulled his shoes on and grabbed his bag, leading Arthur to the door. If he couldn’t trust the man to leave his computer alone while he was in the house there was no telling what the man would poke through while Merlin was out of the house.

“I’m going to come over tomorrow.” Arthur promised as Merlin pushed him out the door in front of him. “And I’m going to check your browser history. God willing you will have looked up something normal, like porn.”

“Controlling freak,” Merlin shut the door behind them, feeling the locks turn into place instantly, “I’ll just clear it.” Which he’d do just to prove a point. Sure Arthur was disappointed for some reason, but Merlin was determined to give this idea a good once over before setting it aside. He wasn’t sure why Arthur was so against him looking into it, until Genevieve showed up Merlin didn’t think anything was off the table.

Arthur gave a sign, long and heavy worn, and Merlin felt a smile tug at the corner of his mouth unexpectedly. “There is no winning with you, is there?”

His grin broke. “No.” And he went down the stairs ahead of Arthur, amused and oddly pleased.

\---

Merlin wasn’t even aware it had was happening until Arthur texted him saying he wasn’t going to make Lance’s house warming party because the unit had been assigned a mission and they had to move out within the hour. It wasn’t until the stab of disappointment hit him that Merlin realised he’d been looking forward to the party. Well not the party, because he was still going to go, but Arthurs company.

Staring down at his phone and the overly long text message he’d received Merlin realised that he’d seen Arthur every day he wasn’t at barracks since he’d gotten back. Arthur had even come into his work with a book that one day Merlin hadn’t be able to wake up early enough to go to lunch. He’d sat at his table, drunk his coffee and been forced to put the book away when half the knights had shown up and started heckling. It had been one of the best days Merlin had ever spent at work and he couldn’t even bring himself to apologise to his co-workers, because it had been too entertaining.

Heart a little too fast Merlin tapped out an ‘okay’ and sent it anyway. No need to express disappointment, no need to tell Arthur to be safe, and no need to get emotional about the thought of Arthur flying off to some foreign country where people were going to shot at him. No need to feel the panic slowly settling into his gut at the realisation that his every spare moment was being spent with Arthur. Not helping Arthur become king, not trying to learn about the world and how this man could make a difference in it. No. He’d spent it bickering and teasing and being teased. He’d spent it arguing about the good qualities of blue cheese when really no-one sensible liked blue cheese and he’d just been doing it to see Arthur annoyed.

His phone pinged, and Merlin opened the next text. ‘That was a single word not a reply Merlin.’ A smile quirked in the corner of his mouth and Merlin typed out a quick ‘okay’ once more feeling giddy at the frivolity of it. Then he set the phone down on the lounge next to him and picked up the old translation he’d been trying to work on since before he’d met Arthur. He wasn’t sure of it’s value anymore, but it felt wrong to leave it half finished.

His phone rang and he dropped the paper to answer it. “Hello?”

“Merlin.” The growl was very clearly Arthur. Merlin felt his grin tick back into place.

“What?” He teased back.

“I tell you I’m going off to battle, and you say ‘okay’, really?” There was a whine to Arthurs voice and it did nothing to diminish Merlins grin.

“Okay.” He chirped back.

“Merlin.” Arthur warned.

“Yes, Arthur?”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Okay.” Actually his cheeks were starting to hurt from the grin, but he thought it was worth it.

Arthurs tone became serious, and Merlin wasn’t sure why. “Don't do anything stupid while I’m gone.”

“Yeah,” Merlin breathed, “you too. Don’t get shot or anything stupid, okay?” And damn, but he hadn’t meant to say that.

“It should only take a week. We’re having a movie night when I get back.” A silence stretched, the noise of movement around Arthur all the more obvious in their quiet. “I need to go.”

“Okay.” And Arthur laughed, but he also hung up, and Merlin was left with that horrible thought that it could be the last thing he ever heard Arthur do, but he squashed that as quickly as he could dropped his notes and called Lance to beg for the right to come to the party four hours early and help with the setting up.

\---

A week later and Arthur is not back. Merlin’s not surprised. He’s disappointed, but not surprised. He can feel the stretch of awareness and although it’s too far to know where exactly Arthur is, just that he isn’t here.

He’s feeling tense again, maudlin and broody and maybe a bit fidgety as well. He consoles himself that if anything terrible happened to Arthur he’d probably feel it. The awareness bites like hot dry air and sometimes there’s tension, but nothing more.

Merlin practices running his fingers down the awareness, thinking of it as a solid string that pulls between themselves, infinite and unbreakable, and very real. He traces it’s contours in his mind, checking its strength and then lets it go. He’s content that it’s there, it doesn’t need to be changed. He looks at the ones binding him to the knights as well, clear and defined, stronger in some places than others (the one to Manus is notably less than the others, but undeniable). Then he looks for more, because there must be more, but apparently they are untraceable. He’s not sure why the magic works like that, but he lets the strangers stay distance. Destiny will sort it out. It’s become his new motto.

\---

He’s going through his mail a week and a half after Arthurs gone and finds something from his university. He opens it cautiously, because it can’t be good, and is surprised to find himself enrolled for the up and coming semester. He calls admissions immediately, because he does not need this shit on his record. He’d quite happy to have a perfect record, but being enrolled when he can’t even pay…

The lady on the line is wonderfully pleasant but doesn’t want to unenroll him.

“I didn’t enrol.” He tries to argue with her, “There’s been some sort of mistake.”

“But, sir, you’ve paid for the entire semester already.”

He feels himself stop, “No. I didn't.”

“If you look at the papers we sent out you’ll see quite clearly that you have.” She’s still being pleasant, which Merlin appreciates, but it doesn’t mean she’s not crazy.

Merlin looks at the papers carefully, and sure enough ‘paid in full’ is marked down for all four of the classes. It’s impossible and there isn’t any reason for it. “I didn’t pay for this.” He tries to explain, because he does not want to deal with the fallout when they realise there’s been a clerical error and he suddenly owes them all that money.

“Well someone did.” And she’s so sure. “We don’t make mistakes about this sort of thing.” She sighs. “I wish someone would pay my fees.”

And then she ends the call, politely and he’s left staring at the letter, phone caught in his hand, and trying to decide what it all means.

He checks his bank account to be safe, it is the same miserably low number as before so his mother hasn’t won lotto and not told him.

It takes three hours before a very unlikely possibility occurs to him and he folds the letter carefully and puts it in his bag. It seems so unlikely, because who would pay for him to go back to university, but he can’t help squashing the suspicion that Arthur had something to do with this. He calls his mother to check, finds out quickly it wasn’t her, and is trapped talking to her for two hours. He enjoys the conversation but it does nothing to ease his annoyance at Arthur.


	30. Part 30

He’s waiting at Arthurs door when the man finally gets back from wherever he went. Like some bloody secret spy doing top secret missions. Merlin feels annoyance at that, because how is he supposed to help Arthur if there are secrets? Arthur still looks cagey anytime Merlin lets anything slip about destiny or magic and even that’s starting to grate on Merlin. That Arthur doesn’t want to see, has point blank refused to be told about something so essentially part of them. He could push, yes, but what good would it do? Their relationship was still so new, Merlin was still trying to figure out the pits and falls of personality, still trying to learn how far he could push things between them. It wasn’t time to start pushing yet.

But it still annoyed him, and Merlin kept that annoyance on the surface as he fiddled with his enrolment letter.

When Arthur stepped out of the elevator he didn’t even seem surprised to see Merlin there. “I don’t know how you’re doing this, but I need a shower.” He steps towards the door, expecting Merlin to step aside, but instead of moving Merlin shoves the letter towards Arthur.

“What is this?” He demanded, and Arthur dragged his eyes off the letter up to Merlins face.

“A piece of paper?” And a sigh. “Seriously Merlin, I don’t like showering at the barracks when I’m going to be home a in a few hours anyway. So can we do this inside?” Without waiting for an answer he reached over Merlins shoulder to the lock, and again the thing swung open before the key had touched. Arthur seemed to drop further. “Right.” He drawled, and pushed past Merlin into his apartment. “You know, I told the doorman to let you in if you come round. You don’t have to sneak past him.”

“It’s a letter.” Merlin followed him. Arthur dropped his bag at the door, not waiting for Merlin. “From my university.” Merlin clarified, and Arthur glanced at the letter again, a hint of recognition in his eyes, before he turned back towards the bathroom, throwing his jacket on the lounge. “Saying I’m enrolled.” Merlin grit at last, stepping into the bathroom behind Arthur because he was not letting this conversation go.

Arthur stared between Merlin and the door he wanted to close, a frown tugging at his brow. “Can I have a shower Merlin?”

“Did you pay my university enrolment fees?” He waved the letter in emphasis, and Arthur just rolled his eyes and stripped his shirt off.

“Don’t undress!” Merlin was ashamed to admit he shrieked.

“You know where the door is.” And Arthur was unbuckling his belt so Merlin considered it.

“No!” Merlin stepped in further, crowding into Arthur’s person space, because damn it, he was not going to be ignored right now.

Arthur eyed the space between them contemplatively, and drawled; “What’s the point of having a rich boyfriend if you wont use him?”

“We’re not boyfriends!” Because that should have been clear, all along. They’d had that night… and okay that other night. And they saw each other nearly every day, and spent all their free time together… But it wasn’t… Merlins brain started to short circuit.

“Friends then.” Arthur placated, and Merlin latched on that, because he couldn’t… it wasn’t allowed. It didn’t matter what he wanted.

Arthur stepped in closer, and Merlin was having trouble breathing, piece of paper clutched in one hand, and Arthur’s face just an inch from his own. “Look.” Arthur soothed, still tired but making the effort, “I figured you had enough on your plate right now. It’s just a gift. You can even pay me back, after you’re gainfully employed at anywhere but a shitty coffee chain.” A smirk on that too close face and Merlin could see every colour in slate blue eyes. “Seriously Merlin, university student working at a coffee store, cliché much?”

Merlin took a step back, fast and uncoordinated, but smooth. “Fuck you, I don’t need charity.” He snapped, because he wasn’t supposed to be here. Arthur followed, step for step, the smirk slowly turning to a frown.

“Why do you have to be so ungrateful?”

Merlin pushed back, angry, refusing to be intimidated. He pushed into Arthurs space, trying to make him take a step back, but Arthur did not move.

“Why do you have to be such a pig-headed asshole?” He grit, and god he did not want to think about how nice it felt to actually touch someone. Anyone. Especially Arthur.

“Maybe because you wont see things that are right in front of you.” It hit too close to home, and somehow Arthurs hand was on his arm, not pushing away like he should be, and Merlin was so angry that he just didn’t care.

“What’s right in front of me?” Merlin hissed. “Yeah, I’m the one with a problem.” Arthurs eyes were wild, skipping over his face and hunting something out that Merlin wasn’t sure how to supply. “Not you. No, not you denying everything that makes sense-“

“Nothing about any of this makes sense, Merlin!”

“Fine.” And Merlin didn’t mean to, he meant to leave. He went to leave, but his hand had curled around Arthurs hip somewhere in the tangle of limbs they’d become and instead of running away he was pulling Arthur flush against him. After that it was fluid. One moment he nearly questioned the sanity of what he was doing, and the next he’d found Arthurs mouth with his own.

Arthur didn’t start, didn’t seem surprised, instead he ran with it.

Merlin wasn’t sure what he was doing, a chant in his head reminding him that this was wrong wrong wrong. But Arthur was moving with him, hands everywhere, untucking his shirt, sliding up his back, seeking out skin as their mouths tilted and twisted around each others.

Merlin has his arms just as full of Arthur. Hard muscle and solid warmth and he clung a little harder, fingers digging in and holding. This. This he wanted to keep, even for this moment. For one moment he wanted to pretend he could keep it. For one moment he wanted to pretend destiny wasn’t real.

His shirt was half-off, caught on his shoulders and elbows and he needed air. He pulled back, tried to say something but the moment Arthurs mouth closed over his adams apple his thoughts flew out the window. He laced fingers through Arthurs hair and he could feel Arthur smile against his throat.

“Yeah,” Arthur murmured, “not boyfriends.”

It wasn’t that he said it cruelly, because there was an affectionate pleasure in Arthurs tone. But suddenly the lie stopped working. Because there was destiny. And there were rules. And Merlin didn’t get this, he wasn’t allowed.

Merlin jerked back, twisted out of Arthurs hands and kept retreating.

It took a moment for Arthur to register what had happened, and then the question in his expression shifted to weary amusement. “Right.” He huffed, and . “Well I still need a shower.”

Merlin caught the door on his way out, pulse thrumming and heart unsettled, pulling it closed behind him.

\---

Arthur forced his breathing to calm. In and out. Sex was a bit like combat where his body was concerned and it took just as long to calm down from one as the other. He double checked the door was latched, pressing the lock in and rolled his forehead against the cool wood.

Damn, but he’d thought they’d been getting somewhere. Then he’d opened his stupid mouth.

“Idiot.” He rolled his head again, pressing hard into the wood to try and calm down. Next time he wasn’t saying anything. Merlin was like a flightily bird (the irony was not lost on him) that spooked at the slightest noise. And apparently he’d been spooked again, so Arthur was going to have to make sure not to rock the boat further. Not that he’d done it, not on his own. It had been an entirely mutual moment, the kind that did not happen when there wasn’t something there.

For the hundredth time Arthur wished Merlin honestly didn’t like him, just because it would make things easier. Arthur would move on, he was capable of it if push came to shove, and he wouldn't be sitting on the edge of Merlins uncertainty waiting to prove that what they could have was worth trying for. But Merlin kept stepping up to the plate, kept not just welcoming but initiating things between them. Merlin had tried to shove his tongue down Arthurs throat, and that was good, but complicated, because then he’d run away like the hounds of hell were after him.

Arthur shuddered out another breath and stepped away from the door. He needed a shower, and if Merlin was out there when he got out, so be it. If he wasn’t out there Arthur would give him a day and then seek him out again.

Arthur rushed through the shower anyway, and when he stepped out into the lounge he was pleased to find Merlin sprawled out across the floor looking bored.

“Still here?” Arthur asked to test the mood.

“I called Gwaine, we’re having Mexican for dinner.” And that was okay. He was okay with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know what these parts are called anymore. *sigh*
> 
> Please review.


	31. Part 31 Unconcious

The call came in at four in the afternoon. Merlin was on his way out the door, but his phone landline almost never rang so he stopped to pick it up.

“Is this Merlin Benton?” The voice was alert, female, and no-one Merlin recognised.

“Whose this?” Merlin tried to adjust the strap of his bag but it resisted. If he ran he’d have time to grab a sandwich at Pret before he got stuck at work without a break for however many hours. Maybe Arthur would show up later and Merlin could convince Percival to go and get him something (he was not asking Arthur right now, it felt too dangerous), but it wasn’t a solid plan and his stomach needed food.

“This is Linda Jay.”

“Who?” The strap was stuck, folding in on itself, and he was twisting it back into place, he told it what he thought of it’s rebellion but it only apologised, still stuck.

“Merlin Benton?” She double checked and he huffed, letting the tie go to focus on the phone call. The sooner it was done the sooner he could get his sandwich.

“I’m not interested.”

“Ah no-“

“I can’t afford insurance, I don’t want a credit card, I am stone cold broke, and I don’t want to do your survey.” He checked his wallet to be sure he had enough cash for that sandwich, and pulled the note out in prep. If he was really lucky the store would be empty. Or he’d be late for work. He wasn’t giving up lunch for anyone.

“Mr Benton.” The woman reprimanded, stern and all business. “I’m Chief Inspector Linda Jay. We spoke-”

“So?” Even as he asked it his memory skipped back and placed her. Suddenly the sandwich was irrelevant, so was work. “That’s me.” He hurried. “Merlin Benton. That’s me.”

“When we last spoke I marked you down as William Jones’ next of kin.” She explained.

Merlin lent against the wall, “C-can I have him back?”

“This branch of the investigation has been wrapped up, and we are releasing the bodies of everyone who died in the incident.”

“Including Will?” Because he needed to be one hundred precent sure.

“Yes.” She assured. “William Jones’ body is ready to be released, if you could indicate who we are to release the body to…”

“What? I have to-“ He panicked.

“No. Mr Benton. I’m led to believe the usual practice in these circumstances is for the body to be released to a funeral director. If you could call this office back and indicate the director of your choice so that the paperwork can be filled out as soon as possible.”

“Yeah. Okay. Yeah… I need to talk to Lance. I think he was going to…” Because Lance had been talking about that sort of thing, about the fire-fighters trying to arrange things and he couldn’t not talk to Lance about it. He wasn’t sure where Lance was right now, if he was allowed to call him or if he was on duty, but he’d have to give it a go anyway. He realised she was still on the line. “Thank you.” He stressed, because god he was thankful. Thankful that he could get Will back. Thankful he could put his best friend to rest like he should have been able to do so long ago.

She gave him the number to call back, formal the entire time, apologised for his loss and then hung up. For a moment he felt suspended above it all, attached to nothing but the dial tone on the other end of the line and the ear piece pressed to his face, and then it came back and the world was right where he’d left it and nothing had changed because the grief he felt wasn't new, but it still felt fresh.

He called Lance, he didn’t even care about work anymore.

\---

Merlin was probably drunk, and Lance was right there with him. They’d downed four beers pretty quickly, though Merlin wasn’t looking at the time. Lance was tracking it, kept glancing as the sports game playing to check the time in the corner of the screen. Merlin suspected it was pretty early. The sun had set, but the bar was still quite. The after work rush not started yet.

Merlin didn’t even care. He was still shaking. Not even sure why, because shock should have worked it’s way out of his system weeks before when the whole thing had been new. Lance talked gently, the entire time, and Merlin wanted to be annoyed with it, but couldn’t bring himself to be anything but thankful for the man next to him. He wasn’t sure what he was saying back, not even sure how he was holding up a conversation but there was conversation and quite tones and Lancelot had that concerned expression the entire time. The one that made him look like the most loyal and steadfast puppy to ever exist.

Merlin lent against Lancelot and drank whatever was put in front of him, and by the time Gwaine sauntered into the bar the melancholy had been wrung through several hours of conversation so Gwaines insistence that their pub of choice was horrible and depressing so they needed to relocate was for the best. Lancelot gave Gwaine a one armed hug that Gwaine returned with a completely ignored flirtatious smile and Merlin was all up for the bear hug he got until Gwaine decided to physically pick Merlin up and start carrying him out of the pub.

Bemused Lancelot followed, Merlins jacket in hand while Gwaine dragged Merlin around in a shoulder hug.

\---

Arthur was supposed to be at the barracks, Merlin was sure of it, but it didn’t stop him from showing up sometime after ten o’clock. He didn’t so much as announce his presence as he pulled a seat up at their table and blended in as if he’d been there the whole time.

There were no other knights this time. Merlin would have insisted they join, but the only reincarnated people on Merlins radar where at the table with him. Four of them, including himself, and he wondered if they’d ever done this before. Sit about a table at a pub (tavern he supposed) and drunk the world away for a night.

Not that he was doing much drinking. There’d been some drinking a few hours ago, that first hour or two after Gwaine had shown up had been spent moving from one pub to the next until they’d settled in. Then Lance had challenged them to solve a puzzle, and Merlin wasn’t even sure how but between the three of them they’d spent the late night trying to one up each others knowledge of pub hustles. Merlin was particularly terrible at it, but he’d cheated once or twice with magic just to watch the other two struggle fruitlessly. Lance, bless him, had only smiled like he knew and kept at the game. Merlin would fucken knight him himself if Arthur never got around to it. Least he could do. Gwaine had sworn like a trooper accused Merlin was sorcery and then moved onto betting Merlin couldn’t beat ‘This next one.’

The latest ‘next one’ was a 20 pound note laid out flat below an empty overturned beer bottle. The rule was you got the 20 pounds, if you didn’t knock over the bottle, or touch it, to get the note out. Merlin had knocked the bottle over on his first attempt, going for speed over style. And the three attempts to do the same method ‘right’ had the same result. Gwaine had laughed his ass off. Lancelot had been staring at the bottle for a long time looking for inspiration.

Merlin would admit to being a little perturbed when Arthur reached out and very carefully begun to role the note into a tube at the end.

“Ah come on!” Gwaine whined, even as Arthur slowly used the rolled surface to push the bottle onto the table and off the note.

“Oldest trick in the book.” Arthur smirked and tucked the note into his back pocket.

“I hope someone swipes it.” Gwaine grumbled as he flipped the bottle back upright. “And short of eggs, books of matches or a stick of lipstick, I’m out.” He pushed back from their little round table in search of a drink. Merlin checked his glass but it wasn’t even half finished. Arthur already had his own drink.

“Shouldn’t you be at barracks?”

“What’s the point of all that training if I don’t use it to sneak out once in a while?” Arthur countered, taking a swig of his beer. Merlin frowned.

“Wont they worry?”

“I left a note.” And that’s all that was said on it. Though Merlin tried to pester Arthur seemed resolute in ignoring it. He then proceeded to find an egg (Merlin would never know how he did that at a bar), three books of matches, one box of matches, and tried to con a stick of lipstick off a passing woman (which he failed). Considering the cost of lipstick (Or what Merlins presumed the cost was considering how his mum had reacted that one time he’d used hers for unethical means) Merlin was impressed Arthur made any headway.

Gwaine jumped to the task of utilising them in a variety of cons that Merlin sometimes figured out, but mostly gave up on. Lancelot as the best of them all at getting them and Arthur tended to smirk at them and look away while he drank some more. Apparently it was an army thing, learning how to hustle people in pubs because it was certainly something Gwaine and Arthur had in common.

Merlin let himself be entertained and drank slowly, considering how much Arthur may have risked to sneak himself out of the barracks when on duty. It made him feel both pleased and horribly skittish, but he refused to usher the man back to his job. Tonight he felt selfish, and he saw nothing wrong with that.

\---

It was one am and Lancelot had bowed out the hour before, after ensuring Merlin wouldn’t be left alone. Gwaine was at another table entirely, having thrown his lot in with a group of five women who seemed only too happy to welcome him into the fold. Overall the pub was becoming quiet. It was a weekday, people had work the next day, and the subdued feeling had begun to ebb into all conversations.

Outside winter rain fell heavy, muffling the world outside and trapping the rest inside. Eventually the patrons would chance it, but for now they were content.

Merlin wasn’t sure if he’d said anything himself in the last twenty minutes and by his side Arthur was equally as quiet. It wasn’t awkward, both of them watching the world go by as they absorbed it.

“Merlin?”

“Hm?” Merlin watched the track of water as it slid down the outside of the window. Thick pulses of life that went about its business without intruding on anyone.

“May I come?” It was a sombre question, the first since Gwaine had taken over Merlins evening, and Merlin felt the melancholy settle inside. This time he accepted it, his friend, his best friend, was dead. He was meant to feel sad. “To his funeral.” Arthur added.

Merlin did not hesitate. “Yeah.” He offered Arthur a smile. “I’d like that. I’d appreciate it.” 

“If I had something-“ He was looking so Merlin saw Arthur flinch and stop himself from asking. Merlin turned from his view of the world, to focus on his lord and liege.

“Anything.” Merlin promised, because what else was he good for. “Anything you want.” He swore. “Everything you need.”

Arthur smiled, bitter and beautiful, then shrugged the emotion away, rising to his feet. “I’ll settle the tab.” Arthur stepped away and Merlin was left alone in his little corner of the world.

He wondered, watching Arthur standing at the bar waiting for the servers attention, he wondered how much he could forgive himself for in the future. He wondered how much he could forgive himself for in the morning if for one more minute he let himself ‘want’ and forgot the rules. Stark black and harsh as they were. Bitter and absolute. Merlin; old, wizened, advisor, console, seer, guard, warden, wizard. Not consort, or mistress, or fuck buddy, or even friend. He wondered which ones he’d give up for another, how much he would have to give up just to keep friend when there was a want thick in his skin that demanded he try for so much more. He wondered how much more he could betray the man he knew he should be. He wondered if he’d drunk enough to pretend it was the alcohol if he reached out and pulled Arthur in.

Because he wanted. So much he wanted. He’d wanted that first time, before he’d known the pull was destiny and magic. He’d found Arthur in the melee of the club and sealed their fate when neither of them let go. He could still remember the last time, burnt into his memories as scared and absolute as that first day he understood magic. He wanted to kiss Arthur, wanted to draw him back into a bed and never let him go. Wanted to know how to keep him without breaking destiny.

Arthur stepped back to him, bills paid. “Come on Merlin, it’s time to go home.” He held his hand out and pulled Merlin to his feet, nodding towards Gwaine by way of parting.

“Do you know Genevieve?” He asked to spite himself.

“Do shut up, Merlin.” Arthur pushed the pub door open and held it for Merlin. They both stepped out into the rain but Merlin could barely feel it. Warm and wet and unimportant.

“I bet she’s great.” Merlin reminded himself. Because Arthur had married her, in another life, another time, but he had married her. “Bet she’s bloody perfect.” Because anyone else… no Merlin wouldn’t let them have Arthur.

Arthur turned on him, frowning but there wasn’t anger there. Neither of them cared about the rain streaming down on them. “Jesus Merlin. I am not engaged to Genevieve.” He twisted his hands in below Merlins jacket, warm and dry and Merlin was suddenly aware of the water but only because of the contrast. “I haven’t even met her. Besides your precious legends don’t call her the Once and Future Queen do they? And I’m fine with that. All they mention are you and me. Isn’t that right?”

The word came without conscious bidding but he was trapped, Arthur wrapped around him, in his very veins and Merlin could not stop his “Yes.” And then he was kissing Arthur. He wasn’t sure who moved, who started all that mattered was they weren’t stopping.

“What time are you due back?” Merlin begged.

“Fuck it.” Was all the reply Arthur was willing to give.

And when they got back to Merlins, and there was nothing between them but air and magic and a moment of hesitation, Arthur begged for a promise that Merlin couldn’t stop himself from giving. Not this once. Not today.

\---

The dream was unusual because it was lucid. Not a bombardment of images and ideas twisted and distorted past reality, but a single absolute that overrode the usual wash of his dreams.

It wasn’t an old high school, or apartment, or even Kew Gardens which showed up far too often in Merlins opinion. This was a cave. He’d seen photos of grander caves, ones made of ice, and marble, and opals. He’d even seen them pieced together by crystals in perfect formation, larger than humans, and extending forever, piercing the cave with unforgiving fingers. He could guess that maybe he’d seen a cave like this as well. Hard rock and cavernous space, with small crystals, scattered and poking through the walls. Clumped together and some alone. A multitude of them, uncountable. But nothing, nothing in his life had ever felt so alive, like life itself flashed through the cave and it’s crystals in a constant pulse of time and energy.

“Merlin.” He was interrupted, and he turned to find himself, older (not by much) and dressed in the most ratty clothes he had ever seen. But it was still him.

“What am I wearing?” He demanded, horrified. God, he was even wearing something like a cravat. Though considering how thin the shirt looked he couldn’t blame himself. Merlin blinked the circular thoughts away as quickly as he could, but there was a smirk on his older self’s face.

“You get used to it.” Older Merlin assured him.

“Really?” Because he wasn’t getting used to this dream any time soon.

The smile was far too sad and did nothing to reassure Merlin. “I did.” Right. Of course he did. Of course he’d already gotten used to something that made no sense. He decided to push on, because maybe things would make sense in their own time (he certainly hoped they would).

“Where am I?” He usually dreamed of places he’d been, at least fragments of them. But this was new, entirely new. He picked up one of the lose crystals, examining it’s glowing blue sides.

“This is the Crystal Cave.”

And promptly dropped it back down amongst the cave floor.

Older Merlin tsked and picked it back up, slotting it into a place amongst the other crystals in such a way that Merlin wasn’t sure which it had been originally. Then the man perched on the edge of a ledge and watched him, completely alert and attentive.

“What’s your name?” And that got him an eye roll so full of scorn he decided he was going to stick with ‘Older Merlin’. It wasn’t every day he managed to make himself feel guilty about being stupid and he’d rather avoid it. “How did I get here?”

“You are always here. Time and place have no meaning here.” The man smeared a line of dirt against his cheek, a smile bright on stretched lips. Merlin could see the laugh lines on this older version of him self’s face, and he felt surreal envying himself. “And you’re asleep.” The man added amused and impish.

“This is really a dream?”

“And real.” His older self corrected, then rolled his eyes. “I know, I know. It’s a lot to understand. But you are here, and you are there, and this is real and a dream.”

Merlin took that in, or tried to. “Great.” He poked at another crystal carefully, not sure what to expect. On it’s surface he saw the reflection of a tree, gnarled and old and completely unfathomable. “And what are you?” Because there wasn’t two of him. No that he knew of. It made no sense to have two of him… and did reincarnation even work like that?

“I am you.” Older Merlin ruffled his hair own hair. “Just, a different part of you.”

“Oh yeah? Which part?”

The mirth was gone in the face of his doubt. The smile replaced but weary sadness, and suddenly the young man didn’t seem so young anymore, he seemed old and crocked and patient. “I’m the part that’s watched ages pass. That’s watched the world unmake itself and reform. Watched the heavens change and the knowledge of man grow. I have watched magic be forgotten. I am the part that can not diminish, can not die, can not fade, can not forget.”

Merlin stared at himself. This older self who did not look much older than him but might have been. He’d read about immortality, the myth that the wizard of old continued on, alive and waiting, but he didn’t remember a past life so he’d dismissed it. Looking at this other him made him question that dismissal. He didn’t understand it, but he seemed to be telling himself (and that really was hurting his head to think like that) that he had lived through that time.

“Why are you so young?” Merlin frowned. “Why are you my age?”

“I’m older than you!” Older Merlin squawked.

“Barely.” Merlin countered, because there were too many similarities and not enough age on that face.

“Because,” Older Merlin relented, “this is how old we were when he died.”

The world barely registered before Merlin was backing up. “What?” He demanded, red hot with anger and fear.

“When Arthur died. This is how old we were, and it stuck, a little.”

“That makes no sense.” Merlin countered, stopped in his retreat by the sharp points of crystals and unable to turn left or right, unwilling to take his eyes of the creature before him. Because it must be a creature, some sort of monster, not a reflection of himself, not a missing piece of him. “Arthur died old. He lived to unite Albion. I always assumed-“

“Don’t assume anything.” The other Merlin snapped, a lost look in his eyes. “History and texts? What do they know of things they can’t remember? I watched the life dim from his eyes, the last breath seep out of his pale lips. I lit the funeral pyre. Not history and texts, not stories twisted and forgotten with time.”

“Why don’t I remember it then? If you’re me and you remember it, why don’t I?”

“Do you want to?”

And god no he didn’t. He didn’t want to already know what it looked like when Arthur died, no matter what age. But he wanted to stop things from repeating, and how else do you do that then by knowing what happened the first time? Merlin wasn’t sure, but his heart would not calm and his attention was fixated on the man before him. Two years, three tops. That’s all the age difference they had. Arthur died at twenty six or seven. Arthur who he’d always imagined being greyed with age, distinguished in his last battle hadn’t even turned thirty.

“But you can’t have them, even if you want them. They serve only to hinder you in this life, so we chose-“

“We?”

“I, you, ‘we’. We chose to let them rest until they were necessary.”

“When will that be?”

Older Merlin met his eyes with the calm acceptance of centuries past. “When Arthur dies again.”

“He’s not going to die again!” Merlin defended, brittle but determined.

“No. You can not stop a man from dying. You can only try and control the when and the where.” Older Merlin soothed.

“Maybe you gave up.” Merlin spat. “But I’m not letting him go. Not now, and not ever.”

“Good.” Older Merlins grin was feral with glee. “That is why you don’t remember.” He pronounced, then eased back into himself. “Keep him alive, protect him. And enjoy life a little, it’s not against the rules. There are no rules.”

“There’s always rules.” Merlin rebuked.

“Do you think this is just history repeating? Do you think nothing can change? Because that will kill Arthur. Far too soon he will be dead and you will wait lifetimes for him to come back once again. If there are rules, they aren’t worth the breath they were uttered with.”

“This is a new time, a new chance. Take it. Make it your own. And do not hide behind shadows of myth and magic. Neither you nor Arthur are burdened with the memories of our pasts, and that is the greatest gift I could give you in this life.”

“What if I fail?” Merlin begged, “What if I ruin it all?” He felt the dream shifting, felt the cave and this other self slipping out of his grasp. Waking up, but he wasn’t finished, not yet. Not when there were answers sitting right there with a sympathetic smile and golden eyes.

“Don’t live for a past you can’t remember, and a destiny that can change.” His past self insisted. “That will be your ruin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many updates all at once. Please review.


	32. Part 32 Argument

Merlin did not wake quickly or easily. He felt like he was dragged to consciousness against his will. A whisper of the dream licking at the edges of his awareness, refusing to let him forget it. He was alone on the bed, and dawn had not yet cracked the red glow of London outside.

He heard the sound of the bathroom before he could wonder where Arthur had gone. Before he could begin to panic or be glad that he was alone in his room when he had not gone to sleep that way.

He set himself to the earnest task of pretending to be asleep before Arthur stepped back out, but it left him awake with his eyes closed and nothing to do but consider the dream that had just happened.

He knew, just as he knew his magic was real, just as he knew Arthur was ‘the’ Arthur, he knew that the dream had been real.

He let that soak in. Eyes closed. Breath calm. He let it soak in that none of this was a lie. That, even just in his own head, things had been confirmed for the first time in his life. Little doubts, ones he’d refused to acknowledge, except in the darkest corners of his mind, slipped away and faded. Uncertainty gone in a heart beat. Because this was why he was here. What he’d been gearing towards his entire life. Putting Arthur on the throne, and keeping him alive while there.

He could do it. With a single minded determination he could make sure Arthur got everything. Make sure Arthur survived when he couldn’t before, hundreds of years ago in forgotten history. He would not let the things that had destroyed this man have a second chance at him, even if he didn’t know what they were.

“Wow. You’re terrible at pretending to be asleep.”

Merlin flinched, which really gave the game away, and then glared back at Arthur. “I’m trying to sleep.”

“Try not scrunching your face up and breathing normally.” Arthur ignored the glare and settled back into his claimed space on Merlins bed.

“Shouldn’t you-“ he didn’t want to say it, to break this little piece of the world he’d stolen for a little while, but he’d started so he continued, “-try and sneak back into your barracks?”

“I am way to tired to catch a cab across town.” Arthur replied, his hands slinking around Merlin in a way that Merlin decided he would ignore in favour of enjoying.

They didn't say anything else. It was pre-dawn and the air was cold and the world silent, and it made sense to curl back into bed where it was safe and comfortable.

\---

Merlin decided not to talk about it the next morning. Not the dream (as if Arthur wanted to talk about something that reeked so much of magic and destiny), nor the night before. Instead he made coffee, avoided Arthurs grabby hands when passing him in the kitchen and replied to Leon’s desperate early morning texts about Arthurs location. It was easy, too easy, to pretend that nothing monumental had happened the night before. But maybe it was because it hadn’t? They’d done it before, multiple times. It was actually getting a bit common now, if such a mundane term could be applied to something that continued to shake Merlin to the very core.

After avoiding Arthurs attempt to engage Merlin in some sort of half hug the second time Arthur huffed and flipped his own phone open. He cringed at the screen and Merlin was glad he stole the glance because he had never seen forty eight missed calls on a phone before, yet alone the number of texts that Arthur was quickly scrolling through.

The silence was comfortable, and Merlin managed to scrape together some toast for his guest before he ran out of things to do besides sit down at the kitchen table and fiddle with his cup of tea.

The moment Merlin was sitting Arthur’s phone was closing.

“When’s the funeral?”

“Oh.” Because he’d expected something about the night before, but… yeah that was far more important. “Lance said they were aiming for next Wednesday.”

“Lance is arranging it?”

“Ah yeah. He and a few of his friends.” Whom he’d never learnt the names of because every time they met he couldn’t seem to get his brain past them knowing he had magic in a way that no-one unrelated to his destiny ever had. “They sorted it out awhile ago, when we thought- but yeah.”

“Tell me when it’s settled. This week is turning into a dog fight and I need to know when to keep open for you.”

“Work?” Which would be odd because Arthur had been coming up to a three day weekend again, but maybe things had changed.

Arthur grimaced and glanced at his phone. His “Family.” was said with such distaste Merlin could only assume that Arthurs entire family was much like Uther. It was not a pleasant thought, nor was the slight consideration that eventually Merlin was going to have to met them and deal with them. He couldn’t imagine how a family would react when one of them became king of the entire realm, but it probably wouldn’t be pleasant.

Merlin went to say something, something soothing he supposed, but Arthurs phone rang and this time he answered it.

“Morgana.” And after that Arthur was too distracted to talk to Merlin so Merlin packed up breakfast and tried to find something to do to waste the hours before his next shift a work.

\---

Apparently he was fired. Merlin almost cared. But after arriving to his shift to find the boss glaring menacingly at a new girl Merlin had never met before it was hardly a surprise. Too many missed shifts, too much time away, unreliable, useless, and whatever else the boss had said (Merlin had stopped listening once he’d realised what the point was). He found he didn’t really care. Just folded up his apron, dropped it on the floor and left. Possibly he was still in shock because he was sure the sane version of him (which he was sure he left behind some months ago) would have cared, but right now it didn’t mean anything, just an annoyance he didn’t have to tend to anymore.

Merlin spent the rest of the day curled up in a ball on his couch watching Will’s DVDs. Some of which he’d seen before, and some that made no sense at all. It was all noise though. Something to keep his eyes focused and his brain semi-engaged so that he didn’t have time to think of anything else.

Gwaine watched the last four movies with him, complaining all the way and engaging Merlin in the task of ridiculing the action scenes and the terribly written romance sub plot. Merlin participated and eventually the day came to an end when he fell asleep on the couch waiting for Lancelot to arrive for a very late dinner.

\---

He woke at two am. He took a few minutes to find that out. Sneaking around Gwaines unconscious form on the ground, and finding pizza on the kitchen bench, he checked the time on the microwave. He ate the pizza absently, then went back to movies, because they seemed to do the trick. Gwaine woke up some time around the third one, complained and went to get himself some spare pizza as well.

\---

Gwaine had something on at ten am the next day and without the commentary the movies lost all appeal. Merlin didn’t want to go out, even knowing the parks would be more than welcoming, so he turned to the internet, because it was by far the best brain numbing item at his disposal.

He fell asleep at the computer. He’d never done anything like that before, but when he woke up it was to Arthur slowly trying to extract the thing from his hands.

“Arthur?”

“Your door let me in.” Arthur soothed, and Merlin hummed at that and released the computer.

“It’s a good door.” Merlin agreed.

“Go back to sleep, idiot.” And Merlin liked that idea and did as he was told. He woke from that in a bundle of blankets with the TV turned onto a documentary about the planet, or animals, or something (David Attenborough was narrating it, whatever it was) and Arthur on the floor, using Merlins computer.

“Why are you here?” Merlin checked, because he was sure Arthur didn’t have today off. And the army didn’t exactly throw spare days off at anyone, yet alone someone who had snuck out of barracks the two nights before. “Did they fire you?”

“Not yet.”

“They fired me.” Merlin admitted.

“Probably for the best.” Arthur was still staring at the screen so Merlin smacking him with a pillow came as a complete surprise. “Hey!”

“I need work to live, you prat!”

“No.” Arthur defended himself from the next pillow swipe. “You need money to live.”

“Which work gives me.” Merlin thought it was a reasonable argument but Arthur just rolled his eyes.

“Shitty jobs like that are a dime a dozen. You have work history, you have skills, it’s not going to be that hard to get a new job that pays just as poorly.”

“You are a complete, elitist, prat.” Merlin muttered, because it might be true, but screw Arthur if he thought Merlin would admit to it.

“I’d offer you the position of kept man, but I think you’d-“ The pillow hit Arthur before the man had had a chance to raise his defences. Arthur grinned around the weapon. “My point, exactly.”

Merlin hit him again for extra affect.

\---

On Monday Merlin really wished he still had a job. There was something about the monotonous rhythm of not thinking and not being an individual which wasted time like nothing else. Now he was just waiting out the hours until he buried his best friend and there was nothing he could do to speed it up.

Arthur was at a family function, something he couldn’t get out of. And Merlin had stared at his lounge room for two hours before deciding that if he couldn’t do anything else he’d be constructive.

Wikipedia was wonderful for history and Merlin set about looking up all the overthrown kings and queens in British history. It was disappointing to see that most of them had been deposed, or killed off, by family members. It was disheartening.

He was on James the First of England when Arthur showed up with Indian food and frankly that was the best thing Merlin had ever seen so they sat about the lounge room and Arthur put on another documentary (this one about missing cities of Egypt which Merlin was pretty sure he’d seen before) and settled on the floor to watch it. Merlin stayed on the couch and when he’d finished his meal he dumped the plate on the coffee table and went back to his laptop.

He wasn’t thinking, reading about Oliver Cromwell (whom he most certainly remembered from school history lessons). A little tired, and engrossed in the insanity of the royal family’s history he hummed out the thought, “Have you ever considered parliament?” Arthur glanced back, an amused frown pulling at his brow.

“Parliament, Merlin?”

“If you were Prime Minister we could do a Cromwell-“ And just like that Arthurs vague amusement was gone and Merlin was staring at something hard and dangerous. He couldn’t finish the thought, couldn’t fathom what had just happened.

Arthur was up and out the door, the front door, before Merlin could even understand what was happening.

Merlin flew out of his seat after him doors and locks flying open before he’d even touched at them.

\---

Arthur was quick. Too quick. Merlin wasn’t sure how long he’d stared at the empty space Arthur had been sitting in but apparently it had been too long.

The wind flitted past, carrying the scent of the world on it’s tails, the earth was cold and closed off below the pavement, the world was awake and there and all at once it knew what he needed and there was a push of knowledge. Right. So Merlin turned right and gave chase.

It didn’t take long. Arthur was on a bench down the street. He hadn’t even gone far. Merlin wasn’t sure what to do so he approached cautiously. Arthur didn’t seem to acknowledge him even when Merlin took the sea next to him.

They sat in silence. Merlin mincing over explaining that it was a joke, making a better joke, apologising… anything to make Arthurs closed off expression open. It was strange to miss something that had only been missing for a few minutes, but Merlin missed it dearly. The fear that it would never return squeezed at his insides painfully.

Arthur broke the silence, “Don’t make me give up on you, Merlin.” And it was a level of begging Merlin had never expected to hear from the once and future king. Kings shouldn’t beg, not for anything, but Arthurs voice was soft and pleading and Merlin wondered exactly how close to pushing Arthur over the edge he might really be. Close. It had to be close or Arthur wouldn’t have left, wouldn’t have stood up and left Merlin on his own. It was the first time Merlin really realised that Arthur was bringing things to their dynamic he hadn’t factored in.

Talking about regicide apparently wasn’t on the cards ever again, and Merlin wouldn’t forget it. Maybe the entire business of being king had to be dropped, maybe every hint Merlin let slip pushed Arthur a little bit further away. And he couldn’t see the cliff edge, so he had to tread carefully, treat it all like it’s enough to throw Arthur over and away forever. Nothing was worth losing Arthur over, not even a throne.

“I don’t know if you’re insane, or I am.” There’s a tremor to Arthurs voice, a quiver ready to break and Merlin treads carefully around it.

“Neither of us are.” He’s not sure how comforting that is.

“This can’t keep happening, Merlin.” He insists, looking at Merlin, eyes bright and a little glassy. “If the king thing… if it’s something that’s going to happen then it will. Haven’t you said that yourself? I don’t want you looking up regicide. I can’t have you looking it up.” He stressed. “Do you understand?” Merlin nodded, tried to agree, but something in his face wasn’t as clear because Arthurs focus was intense. “Merlin! Do you understand?”

This was important, breakingly important. Merlin didn’t want to answer, afraid of getting it all wrong, but Arthur was waiting, impatiently waiting for Merlin to commit.

“I know, I know talking about it upsets you.” He tried to reason, worried, but there were things that had to be said. “And I don’t want to have to do any of these things. And I wont.” He assured, because how could he kill someone? How could a good king need it of him? “I know you don’t believe any of it. But we need to be ready, for whatever happens. I need to be ready. It’s all I’m good for.” He pleaded his case. What else was his purpose except making sure they were ready? He was the one who was meant to deal with all these things for Arthur. He’d always known it would be his job to get Arthur on the throne, and keep him there. He never expected so much resistance from the man himself. But he’d known what his job would be from the start and he wasn’t sure what the point of it was if he didn’t do it.

“All you’re good for?” Arthur’s incredulity thickened the words.

“It is.” Merlin insisted.

“No.” Arthur didn’t reach out, but there the conviction felt like a physical force. “Merlin, I don’t think I could have survived this year if you hadn’t been there for me.” Merlin wanted to argue, to point out how much more trouble than help he’d been. “And I don’t know how I’m going to survive anything again if you aren’t there. You’re like this presence that’s essential and I can’t explain it, I don’t even understand it, all I know is that it’s true. But sometimes… you scare me.”

If before it had felt like a physical force, this was a blow that struck Merlin down and left him mute. Scared? The noise of the word lingered in the back of his mind, twisted and bit and scratched at the back of his forever. He didn’t know how to soothe, what to soothe. If he’d ever be able to apologise for things he couldn’t control. Scared? It was unthinkable and Merlin could not process it.

“I’m sorry.” He begged, the only words he could think. “I’m sorry, I don’t know how to be anything else.” He wondered how much more afraid Arthur would be if he saw Merlin hold off a roof as it toppled towards him. How afraid Arthur would be if Merlin told him everything had life and Merlin could hear it all breathing and talking and singing every day. It was too much for him to consider.

“No.” Arthur shook his head, reaching out and capturing Merlins elbow. “No. I-“ The words fell apart in his mouth, dried up and crumbled and whatever it was he was going to say faded away. Then Arthur pulled Merlin closer, leaned in and Merlin turned his face away from the attempted kiss.

Arthur breathed, the air puffing against the side of Merlins face.

“I don’t want you to be anything else.” He promised, whispered and close and Merlin didn’t know what was being asked of him anymore. “But I need-“ there was a struggle in Arthurs voice, something fundamentally complicated that strained his voice but couldn’t be expressed. “I need you to pretend, Merlin. I need you to pretend this isn’t happening.”

Merlin turned, sharp and fast, nose hitting Arthurs oh so close one, and tried to ask what wasn’t happening, what they were pretending wasn’t happening but Arthur cut him off, kissing hard and fast, stealing the contact and demanding it in equal measures and Merlin responded, haphazard and confused and wanting to pull back and demand answers. But it occurred to him, as Arthur fit his hand around the edges of his jaw, that maybe asking was more dangerous than not knowing.

He tried though, for one desperate moment, to understand the depths of what was happening between them. Understand it the way Arthur was understanding it. He got out a warning “Arthur.” But the other mans mouth was insistent and back in place. He had to pull back, get space between them, but the look on Arthurs face when he finally saw it left him floundering in an entirely different way.

“Just once.” Arthur begged, leaning in for another kiss, another touch. “No dark corners.” And the hopelessness in his expression made Merlin forget that it was daylight, that there was no alcohol and no excuses, no grief so thick it could drown them, nothing but what they wanted and what they shouldn’t have. And with each kiss that pressed in against him Merlin allowed himself to forget and he pretended that this was all there was. Just Arthur kissing him, and the absolute surrender of arms to each other as he dragged Arthur back to his apartment.

\---

Arthur wasn’t tired, but he wasn’t giving up an excuse to snuggle down into bed with a warm body. Especially not Merlins. So he curled himself around the other man as much as he could without alerting him. But Merlin was out like a light, apparently done with the world for a period of time. Arthur didn’t mind, it meant he could curl that little bit more around the man without suffering physical injuries.

He didn’t want to think about the fight, meaningless, foolish and over. Didn’t all couples fight? He secured that thought where it wouldn’t slip out, labelled it military secret so he treated it with the same care he treated all his secrets. If he was lucky It’d stay entrenched where it belonged and he wouldn’t accidently call them a couple to Merlins face again.

Merlin was getting worse at panicking, in a good way. He was panicking less, and denying less, and Arthur was pretty pleased with that. He’d waged slow wars before, but Merlins particular brand of denial was down right bizarre. It suited the man.

He made sure Merlin was asleep, knew he couldn’t slip the words out and risk him being awake, then rolled onto his back, pulling the lanky fool with him. It was pleasant having someone asleep on your chest, constant warmth, a reminder that they had chosen to be there. God he hoped Merlin hadn’t felt guilted into having sex, that would be tragic. He could only let his faith in Merlin as a sensible and intelligent person keep that worry at bay.

“I’m never letting you go, Merlin.” He checked to be sure he was asleep. “I didn’t want to before, but now you’ve promised.” And those words will stay with him. He’s repeated them as many times as he can since hearing them. Almost forgot they were even having sex in the midst of those sort of things coming out of his boyfriends mouth.

No, Merlin had promised now, and Arthur would cling to that promise of eternity for as long as he had breath to breathe. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is no rhyme of reason left, but you should still review.


	33. Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author hasn’t retroactively corrected the story before this, but the funeral date changed to Friday, because of reasons.

“You know,” Arthur began the moment Merlin stepped into the kitchen, “we really should talk more.”

Merlin braced himself for the attack that had to be coming. He wished he’d gotten out of bed sooner, before Arthur, just so he’d have something in his stomach for this. “We talk all the time.” Merlin tries to sidestep Arthur for the fridge, and that’s when he notices the pancakes. He’s distracted enough to stare.

“It’d be boring if we didn’t talk some.” Arthur agrees, all rumpled amusement, and Merlin thinks he shouldn’t find it endearing, but it’s early still and his defences are down.

“Are you going to tell me about army regulation cleanliness again?” Merlin didn’t think he could handle that, not even with pancakes, and the pancakes were still across the room.

“Are you going to-“ Arthur stopped the mocking tone and pulled a face. “We need to talk.” He begun, and the words were so cliché that Merlin twitched once and then sidestepped Arthur for the best thing in the room; pancakes.

“Not dating.” He clarified and snatched one of the god sends off the pile.

“What’s that-hey!”

Merlin was half way across the kitchen munching on his pilfered goods before Arthur could lay a hand on him. In a minute he’d go back in for another round, but it was best to look meek and let Arthur forget the threat he posed.

“Can’t dump me.” Merlin clarified lightly. “Not dating.”

“Right.” Arthur rubbed the back of his neck and forged on. “I got a call, this morning.” Then stalled. Merlin waited it out, nibbling on the edges of his pancake and watching Arthur flounder for the next words.

“A call?” He prompted carefully wondering how soon he could manage a second pancake even with Arthur onto his tricks.

“An important call.” Arthur clarified, and Merlin felt quite justified inching closer to his extended breakfast. Arthur cut him off with a slight shift of his weight, body completely in the way. “Merlin.” And that tone was actually a serious tone so Merlin let his focus shift up to the man he’d let so completely into his life. When Arthur was sure he had his attention he continued, but his eyes skipped away, unwilling to stay on Merlin and that made Merlins stomach sink. “There was a thing-” He floundered again.

Merlin blinked at the uncharacteristic uncertainty trying to piece together a response without having anything to respond to.

Arthur fortified himself, squared his shoulders and looked, instead of two inches to the right of Merlin, out into the other room. “My father has informed me, in no uncertain terms, that I am expected to attend the Princesses funeral.”

“What?” It was so out of left field that Merlin couldn’t, for a moment, process the idea. Sure the guy knew royalty but funerals were private affairs... even princesses funerals, with TV cameras and processions and... well they were sort of private. The church only had so many seats. Surely Elton John was going to be using at least two of those seats.

“I am expected to attend Eugenie’s funeral.” He repeated, but much more gently added, “On the Friday.”

“Okay, why would you-?” And then Merlins mind placed the day on his internal calendar and he got distracted recalculating. “Friday?” He double checked and Arthur’s pained expression confirmed it. “That’s Wills… Can you-” He was cautious to hope, to even ask, but he couldn’t not. “Can you attend... both?”

“No.”

And that was that. Because Arthur didn’t want to be doing this to Merlin, Merlin was a fool about many things. He might not check the tabloids, or even look at them as he walked past, and he didn’t really get most pop culture unless Will had forced it on him, but he wasn’t an idiot when it came to families. And he’d met Arthurs father, he was pretty sure no-one would deny the man things when he demanded them. He was also positive Arthur didn’t want to renege on his promise to Merlin.

“There too far apart, Merlin.” Arthur eased, stepped up closer in an attempt to soothe. “I checked with Lance. I can’t make the drive- they are too far apart.”

“How far?” Merlin curled his fingers around the edge of Arthurs sleeve. Feeling lost with this security denied him. He’d been, not looking forward to it, but being thankful that Arthur said he’d attend Will’s funeral, and that was being taken away. He knew it was childish, but he felt bereft all over again.

“She’s being interred at Windsor, and I’ll be expected to attend the entire ceremony.”

“Why?” Merlin insisted. This wasn’t- what did that even mean? “Isn’t that just family?” Because there might be a horde of celebrities who attended the funeral itself, but the rest of the ceremony? Merlin was pretty sure that was a private thing. Very private. Like, closer blood relative private.

Arthur dragged Merlin in, trapping his fidgeting hands and wrapping him up tight. He breathed out slowly. “I’ve never had this problem before.” Arthur confessed into the meat of Merlins shoulder like it was a weakness he wanted to hide and Merlin’s over active brain panicked. “And it was novel-” Arthur tried to explain carefully.

“You are not a Prince.” Merlin argued fiercely because he would know that. He would know that. He was sure. But there was a sickening thought starting to form in his mind.

There were only so many princes, though. Merlin was sure one named Arthur would have spiked his interest.

Arthur laughed. “God my father wishes.” He squeezed Merlin a little tighter and didn’t release.

“It’s for family.” Merlin insisted.

And in a tone of voice completely plain and absolute, Arthur replied; “I am family, Merlin.”

“By marriage?” Merlin hoped hopelessly.

“Really Merlin?”

“You can’t be family.”

“I really am.” And Arthur didn’t sound upset, or glad, it was just fact and it made it entirely too believable.

Merlin tried to panic, tried to escape, but actually Arthur had a firm hold on him, and maybe this had been why. But Merlin was thinking about things bigger than his confusion. He was putting things together now he had the pieces. Last night he- “Have I been planning the murders of your entire family?” He demanded, but his voice was shot through with tremors because, he realised, he was shaking. Shaking apart. Arthur was the only thing holding him together now.

“You better not have been.” Arthur growls right back, and okay yeah, no Merlin hadn’t. Well not realistically, not strategically. General vague plans didn’t really count did they? He hoped they didn’t. It’s not like it would have helped them.

“No no.” He assured. “Not ‘plan’ just-” He tried to gesture to the where he was last night when he’d suggested Arthur become Prime Minister so they could behead the Queen and take the throne. Where he’d suggested they behead Arthurs... grandmother? aunty? cousin? Oh god, how did Arthur even sneak into that family line? “I’ve never heard of you!” Merlin argues, hoping he’s putting it all together wrong, even though there is a solid surety to Arthur that refuses him the right to deny it. Stupid Arthur.

“You said you only got to thirteenth in line,” Arthur corrects, “considering the way you research obsessively, I don’t even know how you missed it.” He muses. “This has really never been a problem before.” There’s something like apology in his tone. And Merlin can see so many past dates were they’d known who Arthur was (whoever that was), known from the start until the end, not been thrown for a loop in the middle of whatever relationship they had. Merlin had known he was the Once and Future King, but he hadn’t know that in this here and now he was anything but a soldier making his way through one fight after another.

“The royal family is boring, and irrelevant.” Merlin protests, and okay he’s calming down. It’s completely unacceptable. He is not allowed to calm down about this. But his processing and he’s at least able to do that. He’s putting together things he hadn’t noticed but really should have. Omissions he’d allowed and never thought about because Arthur is the King. What business was it of Merlins to know those sort of things? To question why Arthur had money, and had the authority to intimidate a group of heavily armed men defending queen and country. “How far?” He needed to know that. He’d find Arthur tomorrow, he would, he’d go through the whole family line until he knew everything about Arthurs ancestors and family and the influences pressing upon him. But for now he needed- anything. He needed to understand.

“How far?”

“How far down the line are you?” Merlin demanded.

Arthur paused, calculated, “Twenty-first.”

“Why wouldn’t you just know that?” Merlin demanded, because that had been hesitation clear as day. He managed to pull back and the look Arthur gave him was kind, but sad.

“It changed.” He said it so carefully the implication was impossible to miss. “Recently.”

And Merlin was overwhelmed with a new understanding. Because they were talking about funerals. Royal funerals. And it wasn’t the first funeral this year.

“That little girl. This year. That- She was your family. They’re both your family. Oh god Arthur.” He could remember Arthur’s broken look that day, could pull it up from his memory as if he was seeing it again. He hadn’t known what it was about then, hadn’t questioned it. The world was big and ugly and horrible things happened to so many people not just one little princess whose face got posted all over TV. “I didn’t know.”

And apparently that was enough to force Arthur to change tactics, because he was pulling Merlin out to the lounge, away from breakfast and cold surfaces to the soft give of cushions. He pulled Merlin down with him, and Merlin went, pliant and un-objecting. Brain too preoccupied to care about something as abstract or irrelevant as where they were sitting.

Arthur spoke to him but Merlin didn’t hear a word, because he’d moved on again. There was something bigger happening here, and he went through the information piece by piece, trying to disprove it, but the result came out the same every time. Because there’d been two funerals, two royal funerals. All in a year. Because two royals were dead, killed. Murder and arson. And he’d thought this before, because he’d realised it before, but it hadn’t been important. Not ‘Arthur’ important. It had been a thing to be aware of. A thing to research and keep an eye on. Because there was a player on the field to consider. Because someone was trying to poison royals at dinner parties. Someone was stabbing little girls in playgrounds. And someone was burning down night clubs with his best friend in them. Because someone was trying to kill off royals. Not one, not a single branch of the family, it was indiscriminate but not random and it was taking out people all the way down the line.

And Arthur.

Arthur.

He was twenty-first in line for the throne.

He was royal.

And that meant someone was trying to kill Arthur.

His Arthur.

And no-one.

No-one, was allowed to kill Arthur.

Merlins mind came back on line hard and fast.

Flight or flight competed for only a moment because it wasn’t an option. He was always going to fight for Arthur. Past lives, or just the present. He was sunk and committed, he wanted this man like he wanted air and he was going to keep him for as long as he could. Because past lives be damned he wasn’t going to loose Arthur at some ridiculously young age. No. Arthur was going to live.

It wasn’t conscious, the way he clung to Arthur, the way he moved and attacked, showing his desperation with lips and tongue and hands. But he didn’t care, and neither did Arthur who took the contact with the same encouragement he took all their contacts. Eager and ready and willing to be pulled along into the storm Merlin created between them.

\---

“So.” Arthur breaths from beneath him, twisted up under a blanket.

“So.” Merlin stares at his laptop, it’s just out of reach on the table, wedged between a book in middle English about the very idiot he’s laying on top of.

“While we’re on the topic of obvious things.” Arthur’s fingers slid around Merlins waist below the blanket. And casually continued with; “You’re eyes glow during sex.”

Merlin body jolted upwards, Arthurs kept him locked down, like he knew it was coming. Merlin squinted suspiciously at the man below him and poked him in the chest hard.

“You need to stop that.” He means the restraint.

“Stop being a flight risk!” Arthur let his grip loosen. Under Arthurs watchful eyes Merlin started to hunt out his clothes. “But they do, you know.” Arthur continued, that same conversational voice.

Merlin didn’t respond until he’d pulled a shirt on, but he glares at Arthur once that’s done. “Do they always-“

“Every single time.” Arthur insisted.

“It’s a trick of the light.” He tried on for size, not entirely hopeful of the outcome.

“And the other things you’ve been doing since we first met?” Arthur gestured to the blanket, which Merlin couldn’t recall getting from the bedroom, but it’s right there.

He chewed that over, but instead of stressing there’s a strange relief. Because he didn’t have to do that conversation. They didn’t have to have that fight. And he realises he didn’t have to because it’s been clear all along. To Arthur at least.

“Why aren’t you shocked?” Merlin asked suspiciously.

“Because some genius called you Merlin.”

“Hey!” He makes a not to tell his mum Arthur said that one day.

“I had my panic weeks ago.” Arthurs expression was anything but pleased at the reminder. “You think I don’t know what it means when the crazy guy called Merlin trying to convince me I’m King Arthur reincarnated can actually do magic? I panicked so hard one of my unit nearly sedated me.”

Merlin let out a sound accidently, thinking about Arthur in the middle of some bat-sit crazy army operation putting the pieces together and panicking.

“Good thing about the army,” Arthur continued carefully, “you learn to deal or die. And I’m still alive.”

For now. Merlin reminded himself.

“But I thought we should clear the air. Since we’re in this for the long haul.”

And it was that simple. It shouldn’t have been. Merlin had been prepared for hard. It felt strangely wrong for it to be this easy. Well, this part of it anyway her wasn’t deluding himself that suddenly everything was fixed.

“Besides, moving pens and blankets around? It’s hardly terrifying, Merlin. Now go get the cold pancakes.”

“Ah.” Merlin considered contradiction, explaining, and then the wiser part of him clamped down on the idea and instead he went and got the pancakes. Because that’s what a smart man would do, and he liked to pretend he could be that sometimes. (He wasn’t fooling anyone.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please support this authors continued struggling endeavour to finish this story, by leaving a review.


	34. Funeral

The week dissolved around Merlin. He remembers trying to pull himself out of Arthurs hold to get to his computer, and Arthur not letting him go. So he’d bent awkwardly and pulled the thing on top of their pile. Arthur had been fine with that, apparently, at least for the ten minutes it took him to realise that Merlin was looking him up.

Merlin hadn’t relented when Arthur had started whining about how abhorrent the whole process was, and demanding that Merlin just ask him, because frankly Merlin was not going to miss the chance to read up on the mans Wikipedia page (all English Royalty had Wikipedia pages apparently). And honestly he still kind of didn’t believe the whole thing, because it all seemed a bit insane even to a boy who’d been preparing for the second coming of an ancient king.

Arthur had abandoned him for the bathroom in disgust at the activity, but when he’d come back he’d perched next to Merlin, and proceeded to criticise the page.

“That image is old.” He’d scowled.

“I can see that.” Because Arthur looked about 17, with a blonde girl hanging off his arm and both of them looking a bit too frazzled for it to seem like the page of a member of the royal family.

Then Arthur had made the glorious discovery that the page hadn’t been updated in nearly two years. Which apparently made him happier than a pig in mud. He’d been positively buoyant.

“It’s because I’m never around.” He admitted gleefully. “The moment I started shipping out to parts unknown for the army they threw a few ‘off to war again’ articles around on the sixth page and then forgot I existed.”

“There are a lot of you to keep track of.” Merlin agrees looking at the line of decent. He pins down Uther Pendra, even pins down that Uther took his wife’s name. Finds an article on that and the Queens apparent acceptance of it. Merlin suspects Uther didn’t give her a choice but cant even envision how one doesn’t give the Queen a choice. “You know, I think your dad might be obsessed.” He decides and doesn’t have time to regret saying it because Arthur just hums in agreement. “I mean, your almost a Pendragon as it is.” Which is another reason he didn’t make the royal connection.

“And now I’ve got a Merlin on my shoulder telling me what to do.” Arthur teased, and Merlin just flicked him in the shoulder because it seemed safer than the desire to steal a kiss that niggled at him when Arthur smiled that particular smile. “But the names.” Arthur bemoaned. “He named me Arthur. God I’m glad I was a baby and didn’t need to read the tabloids that week. The field day they had. ‘Is Uther planning to take the throne?’ etcetera.” Arthur mimics.

“Was he drinking champagne?” Merlin tests, and it’s a vicious idea, but he’s not there to be nice.

“He always drinks champagne, Merlin.” Arthur has a forkful of pancake to his mouth and he’s mostly bemused but there’s a hint of caution there as well.

“At the party, when you- when the poisoning thing happened. Was he drinking champagne?” Merlin pushed. And Arthur, bless him, didn’t get angry or aggressive, he thought about it. A distant look as he considered his memories. It spoke more about Uther's character than anything else could have.

“It was a toast, everyone had a glass. He was- yeah he had one.” And Arthur relaxes back into the chair.

“It could have been water.” Merlin cautions. “In his glass.”

“No. He’s not that stupid. If someone had caught him with the wrong drink? No. He’s too smart to do something that obvious. No. If he was going to kill everyone off he’d be faster, more methodical, and he’d already have been targeted just to throw suspicion off himself.” Arthur was pretty sure, and the idea was terrifying that Uther could be that manipulative, but Merlin didn’t set the idea aside entirely he wasn’t there to dismiss ideas that might have merit.

After that Arthurs men had shown up, bereft without pancakes of their own and the entire day had dissolved into a bullying fight for more pancakes. And then when Merlin told Leon off for not telling him that Arthur was royalty the man had broken into the kind of laughter that didn’t stop. Apparently that needed to be shared, and the rest of the room had dissolved into mockery, at Merlins expense, because ‘who didn’t know?’. That’s when he found out Gwaine knew. That’s also when he called the man up to tell him off.

“You are meant to be on my side.” Merlin had argued.

“Where are you? Is there a party? Am I missing out on a party?” Gwaine had demanded from his end of the phone, the rattle of keys and belongings proof that he was on his way now.

“You didn’t tell me.”

“So?” Gwaine had breezed. “If a man doesn’t want to tell his boyfriend he’s been in the newspapers since the day of his conception, it’s not my place to step in.”

“Not my boyfriend.” Merlin had hissed, hoping the men in the other room wouldn’t hear him.

“Sure he’s not Merlin. That’s why you’re shagging, and spending all your free time with him, and getting antsy because he had a secret.” Merlin desperately wanted to argue with every single one of those things, but there was no way to do it because he was pretty sure they were all true. Horrifying as that was.

“Where are you?” He asked instead.

“Give me twenty and I’ll be there. Then we can all go out and celebrate you finally knowing what everyone else just assumed you knew.”

“I hate you.” Merlin lent back against the door.

“Sure you do. And Arthurs not your boyfriend. You, my friend, are the king of denial.” And with that he hung up. And Merlin was kind of glad, because he didn’t have an argument. And it was kind of dangerous and telling and he didn’t want to let it be true. But he didn’t have an argument to any of it.

How Lance ended up with them that night was anyone’s guess. But the pizza place they ended up taking over apparently didn’t notice one extra person, or didn’t care. And apparently Arthur out on the town like that was enough to ping the interest of one photographer, and Percival had squared the man off and pushed him on his way.

“Oh sure, now I know you get paparazzi.” Merlin griped.

“I really don’t know how it didn’t come out sooner.” Arthur wasn’t even apologising, the bastard. “Seriously. My dad pays people to follow me around. I’ve never had a problem getting into a night club. I took you to one of my country estates-“

“One of?!” And okay, Merlin was going to have get the full stats on that. And to map them out. It was an interesting thought, having resources.

\---

To say the rest of the week followed a similar fashion would be an understatement. The closer it got to Friday, the more Arthur had to be away for fittings and formal gatherings. And his knights took it upon themselves (Gwaine and Lance included) to distract the hell out of Merlin.

Merlin was only too happy to let them. He’d continue to mourn Will, the loss of his best friend wasn’t going to be replaced by new friends. But the week leading to his funeral felt like the scabbed over wounds were being pried open all over again and he was forced to sit through the same pain he’d felt initially. This was, he assumed, why funerals were supposed to happen so soon. The interruption in the process just stretched out the reminders of the horror of it for longer.

On the Thursday night, Arthur called Merlin, and they stayed on the phone for several hours, intentionally avoiding talking about serious topics. And Merlin never wanted to end the phone call, because there was a fear lodged in his gut for the next day. And he didn’t think he could face it all over again. But eventually his phone began to beep with battery warnings, and he let the other man go to sleep. And eventually, by the grace of the universe, Merlin slipped into a fitful sleep in the early morning hours.

\---

Gwaine woke him up, trying to smile, but the force behind it distorted it, and Gwaine seemed to know because it dropped away as quickly as it came.

“Lance is preparing breakfast, and there’s clothes for you in the bathroom.”

Merlin found a suit in his size waiting for him in the bathroom, so he showered, shaved, and put the thing on. It fitted itself to him without him asking, but he ignored it. He felt too awake, too alert, and he knew he’d only slept for an hour or two. But there was something that made the world seem sharper and tighter, like he was a step ahead of it, and it was waiting to catch up. Merlin took it in with deep breathes and stepped out to find three men in his kitchen.

Lancelot and Gwaine he expected, but Leon standing stiffly by the counter drinking a coffee and oddly alert for a kitchen was surprise.

“Your door let us in.” Leon explained when Merlin caught his eye. Merlin hoped none of these men would every represent anything like danger to him, since his entire building had decided to trust them. As if to emphasis this, one of the chairs scraped out from under the table for him.

Leon flinched a little at the display, but both Gwaine and Lance had their backs to them.

“Great.” Merlin sighed out, taking the proffered seat. Too strained to tell it off, too tired to care if Gwaine or Lance even saw it. The world as off kilter and he was too tired to fight any of it, even when his fingers tips felt alive with electricity and his shoulders were rolled back straight.

Gwaine dropped himself into a chair, and Merlin noticed for the first time that all three of the men were in dark suits like his own. “We’re going out after this.” He declares like it’s a gift he’s giving Merlin. “We’re going to get so drunk we’ll both still be drunk next week.” There isn’t a single part of that plan Merlin is against right now, ad Gwaine throws his arms over Merlins shoulder and brings him in for a sidelong hug. “There will be tales written about the night we’re going to have.” Merlin almost laughs, but it’s lodged in his throat and wont come out, so instead he slings his arm over Gwaine's shoulder and they sit like that, leaning into each others comfort, until Lancelot sets plates of food before them.

“We’ve arranged for a wake at the station after the funeral, but that will be a few hours away, so you should eat.”

Merlin is blindsided, “I didn’t prepare anything-“

“We’re got it covered Merlin. Just eat some breakfast.” So Merlin does, even though it tastes bitter and burnt, even though it doesn’t look like either of those things.

\---

Gwaine didn’t panic until they were waiting outside the church, but with each minute spent waiting for the hearse his composure slipped a little more. Merlin noticed Leon watching the man before he even noticed what was happening. So it wasn’t a surprise when after about fifteen minutes Leon pulled Gwaine aside and they began talking in low voices.

“Is he okay?” Merlin asked when he found Lance watching with just as much concern.

“Some of us have greater horrors in our past than we want to remember.” Which is cryptic and not very helpful. But Lance looks sad, and Gwaine looks like he’s falling apart and Leon is doing a stellar job of being a stable rock, so Merlin doesn’t push. It’s kind of nice to have something else to focus on besides Will, even if he doesn’t want Gwaine to be suffering for that distraction to happen. “I don’t think he’ll be going inside.” Lance adds, sad.

Merlin agrees but doesn’t say it, because there are crowds of people who worked with Will, studied with Will, knew him in primary school, knew them both in high school, and people Merlin didn’t even recognise, and they all wanted to commiserate with him. Merlin gave them all as much attention as he could, and trusted Leon to look after Gwaine.

It wasn’t a surprise when he was clear of one group of people, turned to look and found Leon and Lance talking quietly, and Gwaine nowhere in sight. He tested his awareness and found the man hadn’t gone that far, just down the road, and probably a park because there was a clamouring of responsive trees when Merlin focused his attention there.

Merlin pulls his phone out and calls the idiot. It rings for a full minute before Gwaine answers.

“He’ll know,” Merlin soothes, “He’ll know you tried to come.” And Gwaine laughs a little broken on his end.

“I’m not good… with ceremonies.” Gwaine apologises.

“Considering how boring they are-“ And it elicits a laugh from the other man so Merlin feels a knot unwind in him. “You’ll come to the wake? There’s free food, I hear.”

“Lance would look as me with those sad eyes if I didn’t try his mothers recipe for casserole. And I can’t handle those sad eyes.”

“It’s like kicking a puppy. A puppy with a broken leg.” Merlin agreed readily, and flicked a smile at Lancelot in apology for something he couldn’t even hear. He sobered, “It wont be long, you’ll be good?”

“Leon’s keeping his phone on, and I’m under strict instructions to call him if I need to. I wont. It’s fine, just church’s and funerals…”

“He’ll understand.” Merlin assures once more, his back to the mingling crowd. “We’ll call you when it’s over.” He ended the call as the hearse pulled into the yard, and then forced that feeling of wrong wrong wrong down, forced his limbs to stop the intermittent shake that wanted to overwhelm him, and forced his focus on what was happening here, and now. Because Will had been his best friend, and his best friend deserved no less than his complete attention.

\---

Merlin watched the coffin where he and the others had put it. Protective of a useless empty vessel and everything it represented. It was cold hard wood covered in white lily’s and ridiculous foliage. Merlin didn’t look away.

He owed this to Will, beyond all other things, this was the only thing his life had really been up until now. Will had been his brother, in all but name, and that was gone now too.

So Merlin watched, he kept his eyes on it while people spoke, he kept his eyes there when friends of theirs, distant and long forgotten came and told him how sorry they were, he even kept them there when Will’s friends, people he didn’t know, broke down at the coffin. He only looked away when Lance took his arm and spoke to him. Soft words, Lance knew how to be kind, and he knew now was the time for it. He told Merlin he had to speak.

Merlin hadn’t prepared anything, he’d looked at the paper over the last week in the few moments he was left alone, but nothing had come of it. When he stepped up to the pulpit, eyes finding that coffin, a coffin that felt nothing like Will and had none of the promise that his best friend used to have, he only knew he could not let him down again.

He searched for words, anything adequate, when nothing was. A way to say goodbye, when he had never wanted to. He looked up at a room of mourners, lost in their own sorrows, a troop of fire men who had no reason to be there but watched Merlin with an intensity unmasked. Merlin found Lance amongst the crowd and wished it had been Arthur who had come with him today. Wished the world were more accommodating, if not kind.

“It’s blank.” Merlin stumbled out, showing the stupid paper he’d been holding onto for two days. “There’s nothing to say.” But that wasn’t good enough. Merlin pushed past that feeling of desolation. “Will was… nothing spectacular, he was normal, human. He was, Will.” Merlin snorted at his own stupidity, knew Will would have been doing the same right then as well. “And being ‘Will’ made him the most irreplaceable person in my life. He didn’t need anything to distinguish him, he was more than that. He was everything to me-“ he looked to the crowd, “-and so many others. He was my brother. No. He is my brother. Not even death will change that. I wont let it.”

He took a breath, deep and full and let it circle through his lungs before letting it back out again, soft and quite. Something in the back of his head throbbed incessantly. Determined, the hysterical edge kept at bay for another minute, Merlin pushed on. “Will died a horrible, tragic, needless death.” He nodded to himself. “He died before he should have, and nothing can change that. He always used to say I was a fool for living for tomorrow or yesterday when today needed my attention.” Merlin laughed, bitter, lost, his heart hurt. “He lived his life for everyday and-“ his heart stuttered and paused, then tumbled back into life. “-and he helped me… helped me try and do the same.” Merlin paused, took another breath, eyes flicking shut against his command and everything stopped.

His breath stopped, his heart stopped, the world seemed to stop, everything except that pounding sound in the back of his ears that was driving louder and harder, blaring a warning that he hadn’t realised he needed to hear. On the back of his eyelids he could see it, in his limbs he could feel it clear and absolute; people were going to die.

Merlin forced his eyes open, stumbled, hit his hip against the side of the lectern and saw all those eyes turned on him. Concern for him, sadness, no understanding. Because no-one else knew.

“Wha-?” Merlin looked to Will’s coffin. Nothing there, nothing at all. He looked to Lance, who watched him solemnly. Merlin tried to recalibrate, tried to remember what he’d been saying, tried to remember what was important. “Will-“ Merlins head hurt, thrumming with a warning of something horrible, something he couldn't pin down. And he just needed to finish, to send Will of properly, like he deserved.

He tried to find a grounding point past the confusion and pain wracking his body. Lance was standing just beside him, ready to pull him back down to the pews. But Leon, Leon who remembered, Leon was on alert for an outside attack, ready to defend Merlin from whatever they both knew was coming.

And that’s when he realised what was happening. Because the world reached out to him sometimes, whispered secrets man wasn’t supposed to know. But his soul was bound to one person and one alone. And it wasn’t just nameless faceless people who were going to die. It wasn’t a care crash around the corner, or a mine collapsing in another country, it was here and now, and it was- “Arthur.”

He stared at the crowd, listening to his heart as it pleaded and pounded. “No.”

Merlin pushed down everything in him, the panic, the regret, he pushed it all down to deal with the one thing he could. Because Will? Will was dead. He’d already failed Will, and today he was going to fail him again. “I- I’m so sorry.” He promised.

Merlin moved, faster than the room could follow, faster than he understood how.

He was off the lectern, down the stairs and abandoning Will all over again, but it had to be, Arthur had to win. Arthur was destiny and hope and the future. Arthur was alive and warm, and his mouth ticked into smiles even when he wanted to frown. Arthur who should never have been targeted, who had shrugged off Merlins concerns and pointed out his guard, and how unimportant he was amongst all the others. But what did a guard do against poison? What did a guard do against a hurricane of fire and anger?

Merlin reached deep inside for his magic, twisted it up into his limbs and with each foot fall he thought ‘Arthur, Arthur, Arthur’ and then he threw himself out the church door, and the magic stretched tight, wrapped him tight, and snapped.

When his foot landed it wasn’t on the little steps outside the church, it was on marble floor and in a room full of surprised guests.

Merlin didn’t even breathe: “Percival! Get Arthur down!” and then the world exploded around them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are three more chapters, they are written and I will be posting them over the next week. Hopefully someone is still reading. :)
> 
> EDIT: I can't believe the program swallowed the last line. I've fixed it now.


	35. Fire and Dust

Merlins lived with magic since he was fourteen. There are days when he’s wanted it to rain and so it has, days when he’s wanted it to stop raining and the worlds laughed at him and done what it wants. And there are days when in fierce anger he’s _told_ it to rain and it’s wrestled back with the force of a world behind it. This is like those days.

The blast is impossible to measure. It’s roars at Merlin as it engulfs the room, and Merlin bends the world down to his will and he fights _back_. He fights back with every bit of himself trying to stem the tide. But it’s fast and it’s furious and Merlin can’t stop the whole world from moving and his will isn’t enough to save the whole room.

The fire, and debris, and the force of the explosion hit the barrier he throws up like a hurricane on steroids. The entire blockade is pushed back towards him, fire searing his hands, fragments of the room too solid and too fast stabbing through and leaking fire in. He keeps what he can out.

There’s just no time to do more. The tiny corner of the room he’s arrived in is all he can protect. He doesn’t even have the time to worry about where Arthur is, if he’s at the centre of the blast or further away. He hopes he’s not here, in another room, another wing of the building. He hopes he’s magic’s ripped him from one part of England and thrown him into the wrong place. But he doesn’t think that’s how the world works.

This is the punishment for not noticing the warning. For thinking it could ever be anything other than Arthur.

The fire ball’s gone right after the immediate explosion and then it’s just a shattered ballroom and mangled people. Merlin orders the walls and roof to hold just a bit longer, just as long as he needs, and drops his shields.

“Percival!” He calls into the room and from behind him he hears his name. Shocked, confused, and female. Merlin glances back to find Morgana barely scathed, a tiny frightened girl clutched in her arms. They’re both fine, compared to the rest of the room. Morgana has a cut across her cheek, deep and dripping, and the edge of her clothing is singed but she’s been protected by Merlins shield. She’s not the only one, but Merlin doesn’t know any of the others, and doesn’t care.

“Arthur.” He demands harsher than he should but it’s past the point of pleasantries. He goes to turn back to the room and it sways, and his left knee gives out. “I need-“ He looks back to her, pleading and it jolts her into action.

“Out.” Morgana orders a man as she shoved the child into his arms, “Get out before it collapses, and don’t let go of her!”

“Morgana-“ he protests but she’s scrabbling over to Merlin

“Out! I’m going to find Arthur.” And she reached out to Merlin, hands cool under his elbow and pulling him up. “He was over by the sandwich table.” She vibrates where they touch, and he’s not sure if she’s shaking with shock or just the most alive thing left in the room. He’s having trouble breathing but he wont stop and she wont let him.

They pick their way across plaster and rock, and people who they can’t save. Morgana stops only once, looking down at one of those people, and it’s Merlin who takes her arm and pulls her onwards. He doesn’t know these people, but he knows she does. He can barely look (though he does in case they are Arthur), the smell in the air is rank and horrific, and he doesn’t have shared memories with these people. He makes sure she’s at his side until they get to the sandwich table.

\---

Merlins phone starts ringing as Morgana starts shouting for Arthur. Merlin ignores the persistent buzzing from his pocket and stares at the mess that he could have, maybe, prevented.

“Merlin. Help me look.” Morgana orders, using her body to shove a table off a pile of rubble.

“I just need-“ Merlin grapples for focus, it’s like there’s a chalky film over his eyes, his arms hurt, and he can’t quite figure out why everything is happening faster than it should.

“Where is he, Merlin?” Morgana, demands, “Help me find him.”

And Merlin’s brain catches up, like he’d left it back on London, it takes a while to click on. But once it’s on there’s no denying the relief Merlin feels. Then he reaches down inside himself and finds the glimmer of the connection her and Arthur share.

And he traces it a towards an outer wall, traces the way it beats and lives under his stand still, a constant rhythm of Arthur Arthur Arthur. Alive by injured, bleeding and not dead. Merlin doesn’t stop until he’s found where the Once and Future King is located.

The damage is significant, the walls fell in the initial blast and a large part of the roof has followed it. Merlin can see out into the serene gardens where a riot of emergency vehicles are arriving. He traces the line of their connection with a sick twist in his stomach because ‘alive’ doesn’t mean ‘safe’.

“Morgana.” Merlin says cautiously, focus locked on the large piece of roof and the way the hooks in his chest lead right below it.

Next to him Morgana’s breathing scatters. “No.” She orders with the same fierce control she’s had all through this. “He is not below that, Merlin.”

“He’s alive.” He breathes out in reassurance, unsure how anything can be reassuring right now. “We just need to-“ he looks at the piece of roofing, “-to move that.” It’s too big- far too big. But Morgana doesn’t care, she moves in to try and move it with her bare hands.

“Wait.” Merlin calls as his body sways. He’s looking for a solution that doesn’t involve magic because he is tapped out, and just holding himself up is becoming harder.

“I don’t care if you’re tired, Merlin! Help me get my brother!” There’s hysteria in her voice but she doesn’t stop moving, pushing rocks and mortar aside. Looking for a way in under the slab.

Merlin watches that energy and has an idea.

“Morgana,” he breaths, “you’re a witch.”

“What?”

“Come here- give me your hand.” He holds his own out and finds it covered in blood.

“We don’t have time-“

“I can get him out.” He promises, his hand out stretched, back leaning against a crumbling pillar. “I just need more. I need you.” And she looks at him like she can’t put her trust in him for this, like he might be crazy and they’re wasting time. But there’s blood on her face, and her dress is covered in plaster dust, but she’s also alive and he did that. He doesn’t know what she’s thinking, but she comes back to him and instead of taking his hand she throws her arms around his entire body and leans in hard.

“Save him, and I will give you everything.” She demands and he finds patch’s of her skin, her arms, and her neck and he clings despite the way his fingers scream at him. Then he digs deep for whatever’s left. Something more primal than instinct, more ingrained than his connection with Arthur. He thinks about that cave where he saw himself, he thinks of the shards and crystal and he looks for that feeling. A feeling of being without time, being apart from the world. A feeling of being eternal and not. Something even he can’t quite understand. And when he finds it he pulls it up, one inch at a time, one breath after the other, and then he asks her, silently with that power, for help.

The room is holding itself together for him. People who are able stumbling into the fresh air of outside through holes in the walls and twisted doorways. Royal guards are pouring into the room, pull out the first people they encounter. No-one thinks the room will hold and Merlin knows it’s only obstinacy that’s kept it up this long. He can feel the way the world sways, the way the walls want to give up, the way the roof strains to hold itself in once piece like he asked. He can feel pieces of a broken world whispering apologies but still doing what it can. He pushes into that feeling, digs deeper, digs until all he can feel it in the woman holding onto him with the same intent and the same desire as his. Then he pries into that little spark of her and rips the magic out.

She screams and so does he, the magic’s locked down hard, vaulted against access. Like she didn’t get a day when she was fourteen where it all came out, because it was decided she shouldn’t. He throws all those locks to the wind, and he breathes her magic in as it seeps into the world.

He throws more at the roof, gives it support to help hold it a little longer. She’s got enough to spare and it’s fresh and new so he pulls more in, breathes and breathes until his bodies not fraying apart with exhaustion, until he can feel the pulse and beat of every rock in the room. Every piece of twisted metal and burning cloth. Until the entire room is more alive than dead and it’s pulsing right back at him

He lets her go. She pulls back, stares at him with wide frightened eyes and he doesn’t reassure her because the world is broken and they both know it. She hisses out her a breath and pulls back. He can see his cut marks into her arms where he held her too hard.

“Well?” She asks, her voice broken and scratchy.

And he’s reminded of their task, their purpose. But even with her magic in him he’s not sure they’ll be enough.

“Merlin.” Morgana pulls him to her, forces him to meet her eyes. “You are going to do it.” Her eyes are ice and leave no room for argument. “If I am Morgana Le Fay, and he is Arthur Pendragon, then you are Merlin, and you _will not_ let him die.”

She forces him to turn back to it. Her hands firm on his arms this time. Her determination fiercer than the blast itself had been.

“You will _NOT_ let him die, Merlin. You did not come here today to let him die.” Her fingers dig into his arms, and she breathes into the back of his neck with the anger of ages and he wants to do it, wants to do anything and everything. “Breathe, Merlin, and use whatever magic you have to get him out.”

Merlin’s eyes slip shut, safe with her at his back. Safe because they both need the same thing. And he lets himself fall through his magic and flow out into the room. It’s dying, the room, there’s human death and material destruction. The things don’t feel pain, but they come to an end, and what isn’t broken will soon be. Merlin breathes it in with each inhale and with each exhale he sinks into the spaces around Arthur.

He has to be careful, moving the wrong thing can as easily kill as save and Merlins not taking any chances.

Eyes closed the magic shows him what he needs. The air around Arthur is stale and heavy, the floor below him solid. Arthurs back is pushed up against a pillar, Percival half covering him. Merlin feels each detail of rock and air, knows they’re tucked into a pocked of space between the a fallen pillar and statue, locked in by the roof. The statue on their left and pillar on the right are all that’s keeping them from being crushed. Merlin pushes more of Morgana’s magic into the statue, demands it stay where it is no matter what, and feels the heavy sigh of it agreeing, then he does the same with the pillar at Arthurs back.

Then Merlin feels along the piece of roof, it’s thick and solid and he slides his magic around the hard surfaces careful not to let it move or shake yet. Then he braces himself, and he doesn’t ask the piece of roof to move, so much as he makes it. It’s one second, a breath deeper than not, and then Merlin uses his magic to rip the slab up away. It defies gravity to obey his command, and then hovers awkwardly because Merlin hasn’t though this far. Hasn’t considered what would happen if he won.

He does his best to feel further into the room, feel if there’s anything, or one, alive down there. But there isn’t a peep, and eventually Merlin doesn’t have the strength to hold it indefinitely. He finds a space, not far away, under which he can’t feel signs of life, and it’s the best they have.

So he drops it hoping he hasn’t hurt anyone worse, but unable to focus on the possibility.

Then Morgana is ignoring her own personal safety to climb in amongst the ruins to find Arthur.

Merlin takes a step towards her to help, but it’s too much, he’s bodies over run his mind slowed to a halt. He goes to walk but instead his legs go out under him at the same time he loses consciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> o_o Ummm....


	36. Bunker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to post it slowly, but man, four years? Yeah just have the whole thing.

The first thing he see’s when he comes to is Arthurs cut up face frowning at him.

“Oh,” he manages to squeeze past his dry throat, “yay.” And he roles his head back ready to faint all over again but Arthur catches his face and pulls him back into the full force of his frown.

“You need to leave.” Is the completely unreasonable thing he says. Merlin wants to push Arthur away and tell him to piss off, but his arms barely lift off the ground before they fall right back where they were.

“Yeah,” he says in a way that clearly is ‘no’, then; “You’re face looks funny.”

Arthur’s frown deepens and Merlin realises it’s not anger he’s seeing, but concern. It’s really nice, he muses, that they’ve spent enough time around each other that he can recognise the difference.

“My face?” Arthur rubs a thumb across Merlins cheeks, it catches and drags like there’s something in the way, “I’m not the one gushing blood from his nose, Merlin.” 

“Oh.” He supposes he did that to himself.

“Or with second degree burns on my hands and arms,”

“Ha.” That would explain why his fingers felt hot.

Arthur’s frown intensifies, “Or with a puncture wound through my abdomen.”

Merlin smiles despite himself, “You’re okay then?” He asks, and Arthurs frustrated enough that he has to rub his face furiously with a dust covered hand.

“Percival’s unconscious, took a hit to the head when he tackled me.” Arthur tried very hard to make Merlin feel bad for that, and Merlin just smiled back at him, “Manus’ legs broken,” he motioned to the man who waved dopily back at them from a spot on the lawn, “Morgana has a scratch, a single scratch, on her face, and no-ones sure why she’s fainted-“

“Drained.” Merlin answered his own eyes drooping.

“No. No!” Arthur snapped clicking in front of Merlins face. Merlin blinks awake. “You have to leave Merlin.”

“I can’t even move.”

“Your phone was ringing. Leon was panicking, Gwaine stole a car, and Lance wouldn’t let them come on their own. They wont get close, but we need to get you to them.”

“You’re coming too?” Merlin managed to get his hand up and caught the edge of Arthurs shirt. Accommodatingly Arthur caught Merlins elbow and let the hand settle on his arm. Even with the bandages padding his hand the contact hurt.

“A lot of people just-“ his expression was pained “-died, Merlin. A lot of really powerful important people.”

“Your family.” Merlin added, too tired to realise Arthur knew that, would know it better than Merlin could.

“And you weren’t supposed to be here.” Arthur pushed on. “You didn’t sign in through the gates, you weren’t on the guest list. They will crucify you.”

“You think, even if I can get my legs to work, I can just walk away?” Merlin wanted to hold Arthurs hand, to anchor them together, but the bandages were clunky, and his hands hurt too much to risk it. “You think I could leave your side ever again?” He shook his head, sending jolts of pain through his body, “I’m not leaving. I’m not going anywhere. The only thing that could make me leave your side is death, and even that doesn’t last for us. Don’t you get it?” He pleaded, “I’m not meant to be anywhere else.”

Arthurs expression stilled and then collapsed, head landing against Merlins shoulder. Merlin wished he wouldn’t do that, body swaying under the added pressure.

“Leon told me you just vanished. That somehow you were there then here. That you saved my life.”

“I think Percival saved your life.” He argued, because he’d saved Morgana’s (probably) but he didn’t think he deserved recognition for anything else. He’d been too late, and in the wrong place, and he didn’t think that deserved anything but reprimand.

Arthur pressed his face harder into the joint of Merlins shoulder and neck. “Have you noticed where the paramedics are?” He asked Merlins collar bone.

Merlin didn’t want to expend the energy to look, “Can you just tell me?”

“They’re not over here.” Arthur explained. “One of them patched your hands and abdomen to stop you bleeding out, checked to make sure the rest of us weren’t critical then left us here. Because they saw it Merlin. They saw you lift a piece of wall in the air and throw it away like it was nothing.”

“Like it was nothing?” Merlin demanded, enough energy to be angry about that. “I’d like to see them do it.”

Arthur huffed and sat up gain. Merlin was glad to not be supporting the extra weight. “They can’t, Merlin. That’s the point.” There was a fond look on his face, and Merlins struck with the fear of what could have happened, what nearly did happen. Merlin wants to touch Arthur, wants to grab and hold for as long as Arthur will let him. But right now he physically can’t and it’s driving him insane.

“Can you hug me?” He asks, voice cracking, “Please?” And he’s horrified that his eyes feel damp, but the next moment it doesn’t matter because Arthur closes him into the tightest hug he’s ever had. And whatever was sitting in the back of his mind, the knowledge that this might not have been possible, that he nearly lost this crazy, perfect man when the world had given them a second chance. And he’s just so glad that it’s other people who have died today. Other people he doesn’t know. People he doesn’t have to mourn. And it is the most selfish thought he’s ever had, and he can’t take it back, and he wouldn’t take it back. So he cries into Arthur, and Arthur holds him tighter because right now there’s nothing else they can do.

“You’re okay, Merlin. I’m not letting you go either.”

\---

Half the army’s arrived by the time Merlin wakes up again, and he finds himself propped up against a wall with Morgana and Arthur standing fiercely between him and the rest of the world. The rest of the world being a group of heavily armed soldiers, and a man who looks he’s used to people doing what he says.

“He comes with us, or we don’t go anywhere.” Arthur grinds out.

“Sir,” the man’s voice is reasonable, “There are strict protocols in place, and a civilian-”

“My boyfriend.” Arthur corrects.

“-a civilian is not part of the contingency. We need to get you and the Ladies Morgana and Ellen to a safe location.”

“Why can’t we take the man?” A little girl Merlin hadn’t noticed demands from beside him, he thinks she’s the girl Morgana had been holding inside the ballroom. “He saved our lives.”

“I would recommend you don’t talk about that, Lady Ellen.”

“Don’t tell her what to say.” Morgana stepped between them, blocking out the mans sight. “We all agree, we don't leave without him, and if you try and force us- you do not want that on your hands.” She’s got her shoulders back, powerful and regal and unintimidated by the machine gun wielding soldiers facing them down.

“Where we going?” Merlin asks. He’s still tied, and he’s sure not much time has passed, but he can hear the beat of the earth again, the whispers and songs of the world around him easing back into his mind.

Some of the soldiers shift, their weapons on him like they intend to shoot, and Merlin levels them with a glare that’s a hundred precent bravado.

“We’re going to-“

“It’s a secret location.” The man interrupts. “Where we can put the remaining royal family under lock down. Where we should be already.”

“Sounds fun.” Merlin tried to push himself to stand, only to remember that his hands had suffered damage. He only makes one pained noise before Arthur has turned his back of the men and started to help him up. “Thanks.” Merlin says hushed and grateful. He’s surprised he’s feet can even hold him up, and is more than grateful for the way Arthur slips an arm around his waist to give him extra support.

“And we’ll come, but Merlin comes too. Unless you want to stand around debating something that isn’t up for debate some more.” Arthur refuses to back down, and with Morgana at his side, picking up the little girl but just as determined it’s only a matter of seconds before the man gives up.

“Alright, all four of you, on the helicopter.” He orders, leading the way. Merlin nearly asks where the others are, but he assumes while he’s been unconscious anyone else worth protecting has already been shuttled off to safety.

He keeps thinking that through a helicopter ride he can’t appreciate, with an army doctor quizzing them on injuries.

“We didn’t get hurt.” The little girl tells him, refusing to let go of Morgana, “He stopped us from getting hurt.” And she’s so proud, but Merlin feels the force of suspicion levelled at him.

It’s hard to care when he’s got his head on Arthurs shoulder, and the world is speeding past too fast for him to follow.

“Thank you.” He tells the man.

“Don’t thank me, you’re the one whose going to have to tell Lance, Leon and Gwaine that they made the drive for nothing.”

“They’re okay, though, right?”

“Merlin, you have a hole in your side, stop worrying about the world and go back to sleep. We wont let them take you anywhere without us.”

Merlin took the advice for what it was, and he didn’t wake up again until the helicopter landed and he had to move.

\---

Inside the bunker, an honest to god underground bunker that Merlin was still a little to tired to be awed by, Arthur took one look at the people waiting for them and took over.

“Merlin needs medical attention, we need showers, and I need the best report you can get me on what’s just happened. Including a casualties list.” He hesitated, watching Merlin being helped up onto a gurney by one of the soldiers and a nurse. “And I need someone to retrieve my personal guards.”

“We have plenty-“

“Who I have known and trusted with my personal safety for years. I’ll put you in contact with them, and give you their names.” He concluded, then, “Okay?” But he wasn’t asking the room, he was asking Merlin, and Merlin beamed at him because he knew he wouldn’t feel safe without the knights at Arthurs side, no matter who these people were. These people had to earn Merlins trust, and they just didn’t have the time for it right now. Better to trust men who’d already laid their lives down for this man and would do it again in a heartbeat.

“Roderick’s will get you the reports. I’ll personally retrieve your men, _after_ we’ve cleared them.” The man who had escorted them in agreed stuffily.

“You’ve got an hour, General Adams.” Then Arthur waved them off, and the amount of motion was dizzying. And Merlin was a little confused until Arthur had boxed him in where he sat on the gurney.

“I have to clean up. But Morgana is going to stay by your side the whole time.” Merlin went to protest, because it was more important that Arthur had a guard. “And I’ll have this detail.” He motioned, and Merlin saw the two armed soldiers a meter behind Arthur, semi-automatic weapons at the ready. It was… incredibly intimidating and Merlin was really glad he was too wiped to feel anything but tired.

“There’s a shower in the medical lab. I need to check you all over in case the triage medics missed something.”

Arthur seemed to relax, “Okay, lets all go to the medical bay.” And then Merlin was forced to lay down so they could wheel him down the corridor, and Morgana was forced into a wheelchair (but she kept the girl in her lap) and Arthur followed with his own personal military escort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go. One more Chapter left


	37. Aftermath

It took an hour for the doctor to clean and stitch the brand new hole in Merlins abdomen up declaring nothing vital seemed to have been hit, to stitch up the gash on Morgana’s forehead and to check all of them over for additional injuries. Arthur showered first, but even after he came out there was still dust caught in his hair. Merlin wanted to drag the man back in and make him get rid of all the evidence but his hands had really started to hurt the more he woke up and he couldn't imagine touching anything anymore.

Morgana set the girl on one of the hospital beds under a pile of blankets, and went to sit beside Arthur in silence.

The General came and went, because even after he’d been checked over and dressed in a spare set of scrubs Arthur refused to leave the room. Merlin watched everything as closely as he could while the doctor unwrapped and checked his arms.

“These aren’t bad.” She soothed an ointment onto them carefully getting each piece of affected skin. “They got to you pretty quickly.”

“I don’t know.” Merlin admitted, wanting to know what was on the papers Arthur was frowning down at. “I fainted.” The doctor hit an extra painful part and he gasped. Arthurs eyes snapped up at them, assessed, and went back down.

“They’ll take a few weeks to heal, and you’ll have to keep them covered while you shower.”

“Okay.” Merlin itched to move.

“And you’re going to find it very frustrating to not have proper use of your hands, but the more you exercise them the better the healing will be.” She clipped the bandage into place. “Also while you are here you need to see me once a day so I can redress them. Understood?”

Merlin frowned, “How long do you think we’ll be here?”

She shrugged casually, “Standard protocol is to expect a week, but the facilities have enough food and supplies to keep itself going… a lot longer than that.” She shrugged again, checked his chart one more time and then left him pumped with pain killers and with minimal use of his hands.

Merlin considered going over to Arthur and Morgana, but the moment he went to move off the bed Arthur pierced him with a look. “Don’t even think about it.”

“Then come over here.” Merlin ordered right back and though Arthur was going to fight him. But instead he got up and dragged a chair over to the side of the bed, Morgana sat next to Merlin on the bed. “Is the girl… Ellen? Okay?”

“Physically she’s fine. They’re trying to get in contact with her fathers parents, but I think they’re out of the country. So she’ll be staying with us for now.”

“And where are we?” Merlin checked feeling out of his depth.

“One of the emergency bunkers they have for the royal family in case of an attack or war.” Arthur replied.

“So where’s everyone else?” Merlin looked around the medical bay, there were six beds two of which had remained empty, and no-one else had shown up. Arthur rubbed his hair, caked on dust shaking loose.

“There’s no-one else here.” Arthur sounded hopeless, “Of the,” he paused, “of the immediate royal line, we're the only ones not needing serious medical attention.”

“What?” That was almost impossible to believe. “But you’re twenty-first in line, and Morgana’s not even officially- I mean sorry Morgana.”

“Apparently when someone mass murders the English royal family they suddenly forget illegitimacy.” She agreed not insulted in the slightest.

Arthur looked at one of the pages he held, “As of twenty minutes ago, I am officially ninth in line for the throne.” He cursed to himself, looking away from them both and Merlin was reminded that this was his family, not some untouchable ideal in magazines and newspapers. They were flesh and blood and dead. “Unofficially they have my father and two others in surgery, and the other five have not been found.” He gave a little pained laugh, “As the only one who is conscious and locatable, I am the acting head of the English Monarchy.”

“And even though I’m illegitimate,” Morgana added, sounding scathing, “their numbers are kind of drastically low so they’re putting everyone under guard.”

They were interrupted by the General returning requesting Arthur deal with several phone calls that needed to be handled. Arthur looked at Merlin for permission, and Merlin closed his eyes, took a breath and found that hook that latched right into Arthur and nodded agreement. It was enough, because Arthur was gone a moment later.

\---

Morgana waited in silence beside him. The lights were down, and the room was cold, but Morgana had a blanket around her shoulders, and Merlin’s drugs were burning off any chill. He was too wound up to sleep, attention on his connection to Arthur and making sure the man didn’t go far without him, but also making sure he wasn’t in distress.

“What are you doing?” Morgana asked eventually, and Merlin stopped the instinct to lie before one could tumble of his tongue.

“Making sure he’s okay.” He admitted.

“You can do that?” She lay back on his bed, and he turned to watch her. “Can you show me how?”

“I don't know how I do any of the things I can do. I just- I think the thing with Arthur. The knowing he’s okay or not. I think that’s something you can’t teach.” He flexed his fingers in their wrapping, feeling the sting of movement and using it to keep his focus. “Can you hear it?” He asked after a while, eyes jumping to catch her puzzled expression.

“There’s a whisper,” She offered thoughtfully, “but I don’t think I can hear the words. I don’t think I’m supposed to.”

“Okay.” He agreed, as if he knew if that were good or not. And then she fixed her eyes on him, sharp and powerful and he was trapped.

“Am I the bad guy?” She pleaded. “Am I- She’s meant to be the villain. Everyone knows she’s a monster.”

“Did you just blow up a room full of innocent people, Morgana? Because if you didn’t I don’t care. You are not a monster.” He snapped.

He was surprised by the hug that was thrown over him, completely missing the burns on his arms, and not pressing him down into the injury of his abdomen. It was the fiercest, most cautious hug he’d ever been part of, and he was glad for it.

She held on and without looking at him she began, “The roof collapsed,” she confessed in horror, “Arthur was conscious, and it held while we pulled Percival out. But when we turned back to get you… the whole thing just fell like it had given up all at once.” She shook around him, “Arthur went frantic, I thought he was going to die, I thought he was going to go in there and the walls would come down on him. But there was no stopping him and I followed him right back into that hell hole.”

“Not a villain at all.” He murmured because she needed that, he knew. Would maybe need it forever.

“And the dust in the air,” she rattled on like she couldn’t stop, “all white and chocking, and we knew where you were, but we couldn’t see anything at first. And then there you were. Exactly where we’d left you, and not a bit of the roof had fallen on you, like it had tried not to hit you. Like it did it on purpose. And he was so relieved, just picked you up and pulled you out before anything else could happen.” She breathed out slowly, controlling the tremble in her voice. “He wont tell you that, he wont tell you how he dragged a paramedic over from the rest of the people there and made them patch you up. How the ambulance tried to take Manus, and he got out and hobbled over to us to keep guard with his broken leg. None of them will tell you.”

“Then I hope you’ll always have my ear.” He replied, and cautiously surrounded her with his burnt arms. Because she needed it, and so did he. And he could feel her magic bubbling away inside her, and that was a new problem they’d have to deal with when the world was less crazy around them. But he wasn’t going to abandon her, she was too important as his friend and as Arthurs sister.

Eventually he had to move his arms from her, the heat of them cutting through the pain killers, and eventually she scrunched up her face to make it brave and went to check on the girl. And they were okay, he thought, bruised, but they’d make it through this.

Arthur returned a few hours later, exhausted. “I have two hours.” He crawled into the bed beside Merlin and pressed into the other mans side.

“Are you okay?” Merlin asked, knowing it was a ridiculous question.

Arthur thought about his answer though, and the silence dragged between them. Merlin was determined not to interrupt or push. Knew it wouldn’t help. Arthur sat up to look into Merlins face.

“They killed everyone Merlin. Just- everyone.” He said it like it was a secret he hadn’t been able to voice yet, strained but matter of fact. “They waited for a funeral and just blew it up.”

“They didn’t wait, Arthur.” Merlin explained cautiously, “They killed her so you’d all be in one place.” It was something he’s had time to put together. Something he should have seen earlier.

“Of course they did.” Arthur said pained. “And now I’m being asked to make phone calls to reassure people, and tell them I’m safe, and… this is insane Merlin. I’m not meant to be here, doing this.”

“Any news on the surgeries?” Merlin did not want to turn the TV on to find his answers. He’d done it once after Morgana had fallen asleep, but it hadn’t been wise, or sane, and looking at the wreckage of the room they’d been had terrified him.

“My fathers still alive.” It wasn’t a direct answer, but it was answer enough. “He’s out of surgery but he’s still under.” Arthur sounded calm, but amongst so much carnage any victory was miraculous. “I’ve had to arrange proper military protection for the entire wing of the hospital. The royal guard’s pretty much camped there until he’s safe to move.”

“So, he’s, if he wakes up- which is expected-“ Merlin hurried to say. “He’s going to be king?” It felt so strange to think of Arthurs father being King. Anyone else surviving and taking the throne, Merlin was sure wouldn’t have felt as strange. But Uther… he was Arthurs father, but Merlin wasn’t sure this was a good thing. “And you’ll be second in line for the throne.”

“This isn’t supposed to happen, none of it. Merlin I’m not meant to ever be a king.” Arthur protested, hot and fierce and Merlin watched the desperation in the mans eyes.

Merlin pulled him close with bandaged hands, “If there is one thing you are meant to be Arthur Pendragon, it is a king.” Merlin promised softly into the space between their mouths.

“Then I don’t want to be a king!” Arthur argued, a desperate flare to him that Merlin tried to soothe.

“The best kings never do.” He agreed. Because Arthur would make a good king, even if he didn’t know it yet. And once Uther took the throne it would only be a matter of time before he’d understand it himself.

Arthur squeezed his eyes tight. “I didn’t want them to die, Merlin. Why would I want them to die?”

“I know.”

“I don’t know what to do.”

“We’ll get through this.” He swore. “Whatever it is, we’ll get through it. Together.”

“Together.” Arthur agreed meeting his eyes and the oath was sealed.

Arthur placed one kiss on his lips, and then careful of his injuries curled into the spaces around Merlin and let himself fall asleep.

Merlin took a moment before he copied the man to ask the doors to keep everyone out until they were awake. Then he too fell asleep.

\---

And in a small room, private, concealed, and guarded by like a fortress of locks and soldiers Uther Pendra woke up.

\---

END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally just spent 100k reseting Merlin back to norm in the modern day era. With Uther as king, fear of magic, assassins and plots, and Arthur being a fighting prince. I literally just spent 100k doing that. And it’s what I always wanted to do, what my intetion was all along.
> 
> If you have any questions, any at all, ask in the comments, and I will endevour to reply to them. I feel I covered what I wanted to, but I’m sure some people will feel I’ve left things out. So ask me. And I’ll do my best. :)
> 
> It’s been a trial, but amazing. **Best of luck everyone!**


End file.
